


Between The Points

by Aurora Cee (SC182)



Series: Just The Motion [2]
Category: Fast and the Furious Series, Shameless (US), The Fast and the Furious (2001)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Angst and Humor, Bi-Curiosity, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Emotionally Repressed, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Families of Choice, Family Feels, First Time, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Homophobic Language, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, Lapdance, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sexist Language, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slurs, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, toxic masculinity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:59:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 179,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4179027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SC182/pseuds/Aurora%20Cee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation of the stripper!au (The Champagne Room) where everything between Brian and Dom is the same and totally different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.
> 
> Title from The Glitch Mob's [Between Two Points](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iaisDkR8Qg).
> 
> A/N 1: The Champagne Room was originally written as a one-shot. However after rereading it and the positive response it received, I decided to see how far this story could go. This is definitely an AU. Check out the series description. I can't promise that the updates will be timely but they will definitely happen more frequently than some other fics I've written *cough cough*.
> 
> Please take this journey with me. It may surprise you. As always, concrit is appreciated.

So on a scale of one to megaton-suck, ending up idling at the one street light between the Fox Hole Lounge and the rest of the warehouse district No Man’s Land with the first dude to ever give him a lap dance was not that bad. Given where the night had first started, Dom considered this string of moments to be on an upward trajectory.

Electricity buzzed in Dom’s veins with an additional undercurrent of heat that ebbed and spiked as Brian waited for him. He felt too loose in his skin, still not back to rights after coming so hard so unexpectedly, but pleased that he’d worn dark pants to diminish his chances of embarrassment.

Dom rolled down the passenger window. “We race to the railroad crossing.” The dare being that he knew Brian was already up for it. And Brian rewarded him with a half-grin that made Dom want to cross the finish line already just to explore what was hidden underneath.

“Fine, the stakes?” Brian asked, churning the GT-R’s zippy engine. “Because, I don’t race for pinks anymore. Not that I _lose_ \--”the implication that he would be a challenge for Dom was almost cute "—I like keeping things less complicated and without hard feelings.”

Uncomplicated, Dom could do. He did it every day since Lompoc. Just lived his life in brief straight stretches of deep breaths and short drives that made his heart beat fast enough to affirm that he was free; that he was alive.

So Dom threw out, “When I win, we get breakfast.” A simple solution.

Complicated was following what happened in that backroom out onto a dark street and daring it to challenge him, and not so secretly hoping to be surprised. Uncomplicated would’ve been continuing to drive through the railroad crossing, back to Echo Park without a second look behind him.

Brian had obviously weighed Dom’s implication by the way he bounced in his seat and leaned closer to the wheel as if he would climb the dash and try to surf while he drove, just to push the envelope. He rocked fast and quick in his seat before asking, “And if I decide that I don’t want breakfast because I decide to beat you instead, what do I get?”

Smart ass. “What do you want?” Dom had a few ideas that would be mutually beneficial but decided to let Brian surprise him or not. “Gotta say we’re too old for backseat action.” And hitting a no-tell motel was just too skeezy for Dom’s limits. “But there’s leather back there, so we could take it as it goes.”

Brian grinned like Dom had already offered him the world’s biggest tip. So when he said, “Your respect,” Dom would be lying if he said that he was unsurprised. Seriously, of the things he wanted to give to Brian, respect hadn’t made the list. “I’ll even sweeten it and rat the friend out that got you the dance, but only if you beat me.” Added Brian, the GT-R humming to second him.

Between Vince, Leon, and Jesse, Dom had his money on Leon. Vince had been in front of him most of the night, buried six plates deep into busting a gut. While Leon and Jesse had moved through the club like lightning rods praying to get struck. If he’d bet on one of them to be ballsy enough to stick him in a back room with a dude—a very pretty dude—to grind on, then he’d pick Leon. Fucking logistics for the win.

“Alright. At the change of the light, we’ll see who gets what.” Dom tightened his knuckles over the wheel, stared down the stretch of dark road and waited for the light to send him barreling down a street that he didn’t know.

_Five. Four. Three. Two. One._

Green went the light and the Charger shook the road raising its torque as it growled and the GT-R’s purr swelled to an electric crescendo, and then they were blurring through the darkness. Time slowed while they moved through the world so fast.

The original owners of the Fox Hole Lounge had made a smart investment in its location in the seventies back when the port and the roads leading into it fed businesses like tributaries with the money of the dock workers. What better way to part those hard working men from their money than with flashing lights, pretty girls, and the promise of enough booze and food to forget whatever needed to be forgotten between Friday night and Monday morning.

As things went with the swell and ebbing tide of L.A.’s local and international economy, the port slowed down, those tributaries flowing from it dried, and few business along this road of chain linked warehouses and broken windows had lights to keep it illuminated. Trust that the Fox Hole Lounge was the one blazing beacon in the murky city dark behind them at the line.

The dark offered one advantage: seeing the lights of the semi that would otherwise have made mash potatoes of them and their cars. So Dom spared Brian a sidelong glance who was already looking at him, then dropped the clutch and they were drifting –left first then right in a sinuous arc towards the loose rock and dirt of an abandoned lot and away from the semi’s lights.

Those moments just prior were built for instant replay. The Charger agreed by rumbling low and sweetly as Dom rolled to a stop and parked. Brian had already popped up and out of the GT-R, all but skating in long strides to join Dom in front of the car. His adrenaline drunk smile brighter than the Fox Hole’s neon glowed at Dom and drew him into returning it with one of his own. No doubt had a real cop come by they would’ve walked the line and said the ABCs and jumped through whatever other sobriety hoops, because they were indeed drunk on that synchronized drifting high.

There was so much genuine excitement in Brian despite losing that Dom wondered how he would’ve reacted if he’d won. “I almost had you!” He crowed proudly.

Mia had described Dom as _sensitive_ in regards to his skills which were developed from hard work, natural talent, gifts from the divine, like sacred vows passed down from generation to generation. There was a story about a horse and buggy in the old country, according to his Pop, illustrating just how deep the instinct to drive and navigate was saturated in the Toretto line. Thus, giving him the right to take offense towards the implication that Brian (or anyone) was on his level, whether true or false.

He fell back into cold habit of busting balls as was his right as the proclaimed—self and public—Street King. “Had me? Well, I could say _almost_. But almost ain’t winning, so, no, you didn’t have me. ”

Rolling with Dom’s blow to his ego, Brian shrugged and continued to grin. “Where I come from if you drift with someone like we did, then you have to be dead even. But you might do things differently where you’re from.” Brian eased off the throttle of excitement and settled down graciously. “I’ll get you next time.” He promised.

“You think I do repeats for everyone I beat? I don’t have enough time for that.”

Brian’s sly look spoke for itself. “I think you do what you want. Especially when it feels good. And I know you liked what you just did with me.” In many ways.

Only one word seemed appropriate to describe what the Charger and the GT-R had just done together: dancing. And suddenly Dom hadn’t felt such excitement about a dance since seventh grade when he wore his first and last tie and went the whole night without stepping on Rita Montenegro’s feet. Thirteen then and already so young, so gifted.

“Are you always so sure of yourself? Being that cocky might get you in trouble.” Brian would have to be if he was getting naked in front of strangers on a frequent basis. The guy looked like apple pie but drove like he was a person of interest.

The responding look that Dom got clearly outlined the trouble Brian could be with little effort. Being cocky was a quality in Brian’s line of work that would more blessing that curse. “Only about the things I’m good at.” Brian leaned in beside Dom, close enough to broadcast some of those things he happened to be good at in his eyes and made promises that Dom had to adjust his stance to handle.

“Since you beat me this time, do you wanna get that breakfast I owe you?”

Dom nodded. With the checker pattern of business lights surrounding them, Dom didn’t have much faith that food would be found around here but he figured he would leave the navigating to Brian. “You know any places around here?”

“Yeah, I know a few places and one that won’t give you hepatitis.” Brian quipped with a ton of cheek. Again, Dom reflexively responded with a low key smile.

How the familiar ebb and flow of airy bullshit could be so easy between them was a mystery. They’d experienced something in the backroom and the miraculous turn at drifting had set them in further unfamiliar territory for Dom: Brian was almost—Brian was honestly his equal behind the wheel, harnessing a sense of anticipation and muscle memory that Dom could only describe as an extension of himself.

“Follow me… if you can keep up.” Then Brian strode away to the GT-R and only waited for Dom to slam his own door shut before jetting off down the lonely road leading away from the Fox Hole Lounge.

For a brief moment, he stared at himself through the rearview mirror. He expected to see judgment in his own eyes, instead found none. “You must be tired, because you’re obviously crossing lines and coming into lanes that you don’t know about.” He uttered to himself, then shifted gears and drove off.

Brian led him six blocks north and twelve blocks east to the glowing silver paneled façade of what had to be one of the oldest diners in Southern California.

Dom parked near the first door leading inside but still within the wide spotlight of the twenty-four sign with fewer working bulbs than Dom had hair on his head. He evaluated the old building and threw a questioning glance Brian’s way. “You sure hepatitis isn’t on the menu here? Because it looks like it might be served with a side of fries and a shake.”

Brian walked with his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets and flapped them outward as a show of surrender. For what remained unspoken. “Naw, but eat the pancakes and you’ll be willing to take the risk if they did.” Normally, Dom found his patience burned quick when faced with repeated brushes with smart asses and sarcasm; a caustic side effect from too many spot battles turned into wars of words with Letty.

“So?” Brian looked expectantly as he stood in front of Dom.

“So.” Dom replied, shifting to anticipate Brian’s next move, who outside of his car telegraphed few clues about himself or his motivations. Dom hadn’t gotten a clear read on him yet.

The follow-up to the volley of sos led Brian to lean closer and Dom to cant towards him. “Are we gonna do this now or not?”

Crazy was a recurring descriptor that he could tag on Brian. Because any man, not just Dom, would think Brian was really crazy for proposing to get action within the open parking lot of the Dock East Diner. If he’d mentally squashed the prospect of creeping at a no-tell motel, then he winced in reaction to the idea of here and specifically now. No. Just no.

He staunched the incredulity in his voice before continuing. “Here?” Then looked at the supposedly empty parking lot and Brian who waited within arm’s reach, considered the scale of risks to benefits of the situation, and then calculated the value of getting whatever Brian was offering was greater than both. “Sure, where do you want me?” Before the night was over, he’d rack up a tab of risks taken that would nearly match the other three hundred and sixty four days of the year combined.

“I thought you wanted under my hood?” Oh, right, Dom exhaled, profoundly relieved.

Dom course-corrected hard. “Show me what you’ve got.”

The hood lifted and they huddled together to inspect heart inside, Brian waiting patiently albeit proudly for Dom’s critiques. Admittedly, there was nice work underneath; not at all the beginner set-up that Brian had led Dom to believe when they were standing in the Fox Hole Lounge’s lot.

The end of show-me-yours-and-show-you-mine got them seated in an empty window booth overlooking the infrequent too early morning traffic. He’d trusted Brian’s recommendation and ordered pancakes and coffee from a waitress who seemed to know Brian but was too far gone into the late shift to be overly friendly.

Brian settled for the garbage omelet that promised to _trash_ the customer’s hunger by offering a little bit of everything between the egg folds. From the description alone, it would be worth the price just to see Brian attempt it. If it was really as ridiculous as it sounded Dom would have to tell Vince who would probably attempt to break the diner’s record if there was one.

As a kid, Dom had always like maps. Had liked trying to figure out different ways to get to the same place because each time he knew there would be something different to be seen along the way. Faced with Brian’s undivided attention, he wanted a map of Brian, the details of which he could fill in with enough time. “How’s a boy like you get a car like that?”

Brian smirked. “That’s easy: just worked my ass off to get it.”

Dom gave him a _seriously_ look. Because Brian didn’t seem to take much seriously. The stripper who made jokes about stripping. Dom hadn’t known many strippers to be so aplomb about their jobs. Brian was different, he reminded himself.

Brian further offered, “I really did work my ass off to get the car. The mods have been a stop-go work in progress when there’re bills that take priority. But I think I’ve found a way to give the Skyline the attention it deserves.”

Framed that way, stripping was lucrative. “And then you drive like that.” Dom stated. “Seems like a weird skill set for you since you’re a stripper. Unless you make house calls promising clothes off in thirty minutes or less. ”

Brian started, then Dom joined him laughing, seemingly too loud in the quiet diner. Brian scrunched the white straw wrapper between his fingers while shaking his head softly. “House calls are a little…too upscale for the Fox Hole. Actually, I drive like that because I got into a lot of shit as a kid—a whole lot of shit with boosted cars—and kept up my skills while I just happen to be a stripper.” The wrapper condensed into an amorphous ball drowned by the stray drops of condensation from Brian’s glass of water.

Continuing, Brian said, “A pro and con list really got me here,” so honestly that Dom felt sad for him that stripping had come out on top of the list. “Dancing was easy. Like driving, I’d picked it up years ago and just needed to practice to get better. Can’t say I regret it either. It’s got it’s weird moments like any other job but I clear more doing two nights a week than two weeks at my 9 to 5.“

That earlier sad empathy got kicked to the curve; now Dom could see why Brian had asked for his respect and felt further inclined to give it to him. “Takes guts to get up there and be that exposed with or without the dancing. By the way-- from the talent I scoped out tonight, you’re the only one that can legit dance and doesn’t flail around shaking his junk just cuz it can wiggle.” Those firefighters would forever haunt Dom for the rest of his life.

“Thanks, but it’s not courage that gets you up there: it’s bills. Most of the girls I know on the other crew are struggling through college. Make the shit I’m scramblin’ to pay for look cheap.” Mia was in college. Dom refused to move further with the thought.

Keeping it light, Brian transitioned to trying for Dom’s respect again. “You liked my skills even if you’re too cool to admit it. I know impressed when it’s staring at me. ”

“I’ve seen worse.” Definitely had seen drivers who couldn’t swing right on a one-way street in daylight with no traffic without bumping the curve. Brian was good. Dom hadn’t seen much better, except himself, and he wasn’t about to admit that Brian could have beaten him. “Seen better too.” The better being just him.

“Better, yeah.” Brian replied speculatively. “You’re the last man standing after your first visit to the Fox Hole. Did your guys make it out alive?”

Just barely. “Yeah, they made some friends. It got dicey with that one bachelorette party where it looked like the Maid of Honor was gonna get pile-driven by the bride. ” His guys had enjoyed themselves. Leon and Jesse got to be rockstars for a night and be swarmed by more women than bees in a hive and Vince? Vince proved that he was part snake because he ate like he could unhinge his jaw. “That place was a little wild—way wilder than I ever expected.” Not that he’d ever given a place like Ladies Night at the Fox Hole Lounge any thought. “I felt like I was in a shark cage at the table with the way those chicks circled. I like attention but not so much when I feel like I’m gonna leave with a broken limb.” Or a broken pelvis.

“Trust me, tonight wasn’t that wild. I’ve seen that place when it’s a madhouse, and it made me not buy into the hype that women couldn’t be as rough as men. Chicks can be way worse.”

The waitress—Flo—swept in silently, sliding one dish stacked with plate-sized pancakes in front of Dom and an omelet the size of a trash can lid in front of Brian. There was no false advertising in it being a garbage omelet after all.

Dom asked, then took a bite of the mini-tower of pancakes. “How’d you know it was my first time?” Brian was right; they were worth a brush with hepatitis.

“Observation, mostly. You looked like a man waiting for the firing squad when you were sitting at that table. Like you feared that you were going to be jumped and eaten alive. Trust me, like I said, Ladies Night can get rough but--” Brian gave Dom the kind of slow eye stroke that made him sit up straight. Possibly puff out his chest a bit and relax his shoulders to demonstrate how broad they were. Just maybe. “—you look like you can handle yourself.”

So Brian had been watching him.

The transition to real talk began when Brian leaned into the cracked red leather of the booth, allowing his body to sag from what Dom could only assume to be a number of things--the hour, the fatigue after a full shift, exhausting his primary and secondary reserves of adrenaline. Despite it all, he continued to focus on Dom, keeping him isolated yet warm inside the ice tunnel of his gaze.

Brian hadn’t started on his omelet yet. Just chilled until he started off, “So. First time, Dom. First time down the Fox Hole and I gotta say you survived it better than most.” Dom considered just how deceiving looks could be. “And didn’t get snatched up by anyone either.” Which had to be the world’s greatest half-truth.

“Not quite scarred for life but it was a near thing. It got better,” Dom offered and smirked at the remembered mask of horror Vince’s face had become the moment they stepped inside. “It feels like I should say thanks since you’re the one who took me on an unexpected turn.”

Brian just quirked his lips, making a tired attempt at a smile. Dom noticed immediately and sat up. “I’m not sure how you figured this would go,” Brian’s face confessed that he wasn’t sure where this was going either, “-- even though I know better I’m willing to give you a shot.”

Not sure whether he was amused that Brian had such high standards or that Brian considered him to be the risky one in this situation. “You think I’m the gamble here?” Dom chuckled dryly.

“You’re the one taking a walk or stroll or whatever on the wild side. Maybe it’s for a night or a week. But I kinda live here. Professional instinct says not to get invested but I’m stubborn. My teachers always told me it was my primary character defect. But I might do something out of the ordinary if you do something for me.”

Dom stopped eating and set down his fork, stalling the rapid demolishing of the pancake stack. “What do you need from me?” It was a question that made his stomach churn like he was still caught in the centripetal force of the drift. A question that he’d been asked far too frequently as of late.

Brian held up a solitary finger. “I may reconsider if you answer one question for me.”

Feeling challenged, Dom felt compelled to prove Brian wrong. “Hit me.”

“Why did your friends bring you there tonight? It’s obvious that you were surprised by the club but you came looking for something. I wanna know what?”

The list of things Dom was looking for was innumerable. Some were obvious: piece of mind, escape, an exit were easy to nail down. The years in Lompoc coupled with the months on house arrest had churned a rough and uneasy sediment into his thoughts and veins. Him and Let, which had always been good, had spiraled off-center and down into a constant tug of war of bruised ego, jealousy, and unconquerable distance. She cursed him for changing while he swore that he hadn’t. So calling it quits had been the first easy thing between them in months.

Finally, Dom answered. “Freedom.” The truest definition of a real reset.

The silence of the Dock East Diner wasn’t stagnant. The slide and click of forks and knives over the ceramic plates disrupted the cool tide of quiet. From the kitchen, the wailing cords of eighties hair metal stirred as the grill hissed and steamed. It wasn’t the oppressive quiet associated with cold judgment; whatever scale Brian was balancing as he watched Dom watch him swayed easily between pro and con without rousing more than curiosity and hunger from Dom.

Brian leaned forward and picked up his fork. “I told you the pancakes were worth it.” The decision was made.

Inches away from taking his first bite, the electronic falsetto of _I’m a hustler baby,I just want you to know, it ain't where I been..._ disturbed the calm of the diner.

“Shit,” Brian muttered as he began fishing for his phone trapped within his jeans. Pharrell’s voice began a second refrain, seeming impossibly annoyed that it had been ignored the first time. Finally, with his phone in hand, Brian apologetically asked, “Gimme a sec, okay?”

Dom agreed with a nod.

Two things were apparent about the voice on the other end: it was loud and it was male. And it did plow ahead asking questions, notably about food and whether Brian could bring some home.

“—yeah, I’m at the diner,” Brian looked at his plate wistfully. “I’ll bring you something, but you‘ve gotta do something about that noise. It’s stupid o’clock in the morning, the house should be quiet.”

The voice spiked in volume, causing Brian to jerk back from the phone and narrow his eyes into cobalt lines. Dom made out the guy yelling something about _Po-Po comin’_ and _asses need to be movin’_.

Brian made a complicated series of gestures at the waitress who seemed to interpret them without issue. Because seconds later, the earlier sound of the grill made sense when she placed two tied plastic bags loaded to bursting with Styrofoam containers and an additional container with a bag for him on the table.

“See you in a minute,” Brian promised, then disconnected. He looked to Dom then the bags. “Yeah, that’s my brother. He’s, like, food psychic— Dogs hear whistles and he hears anybody pick up a fork. You pick up a fork ten miles away, he knows and wants to know what you’re eating and if you can bring him some. He’s lucky he’ll get shit since I had to pull a double for him tonight.”

Dom felt equal parts relief that the voice was Brian’s brother and amusement because Vince was similar, though thankfully not psychic, about food. “I’ve got one of those, too. So from the looks of the pile-up here, I’m thinkin’ you’re gonna cut out on me.”

Nodding, Brian started scrapping his plate. “Yeah, but I’m not the dine and dash type. Flo knows the score so that’s why the food--” he mimed _poof_ with his hands, “—appeared and Imma about to disappear.” He handed Flo a series of bills and closed his wallet without the expectation of getting change. “I got you, too.” Meaning that Dom needn’t worry about the bank-breaking four ninety-nine of the pancakes.

Dom understood troubles at home. The break-up might have resolved one, but the rest, he’d placed on the back burner tonight lingered in the dark like monsters in the closet. He diverted going down that rabbit hole by snagging his thoughts on something Brian had said about his brother. “Your brother dances, too?”

“Dance, yeah. He’s a stripper, too. Family business, you could call it.” He joked, laughing without reserve, further demonstrating a complete lack of self-consciousness about anything that had gone down between them this night.

“I don’t wanna just _leave_ but I gotta get home.” Dom understood and nodded. “So here’s me saying that stripper doesn’t mean easy. I have a three date minimum before you can round my bases, if you know what I mean, and I know you like a challenge.”

The challenge Brian presented was as foreign as it was familiar. Brian’s bluster stoked Dom’s competitive streak and Brian himself represented the possibilities of roads yet to be traveled. Only if Dom were brave enough.

No one had nor ever would call Dom a coward. “By my count, I’ve only got one more.” Dom declared and counted off, “On the road and in here. Where I’m from we call it foreplay.” Challenge accepted obviously.

That magnetic grin returned, and yeah, Dom was glad he hadn’t continued driving through the railroad crossing. “Well, we’ll take our time with that one then. Give me your phone.” Dom handed it over and Brian tapped his number in and called himself to get Dom’s.

Then things took a murky turn for Dom. What was he supposed to do now? Did he stand and walk him out? Hug? Shake his hand? He knew what he did with his friends, but Brian wasn’t angling to be his _friend_.

Again, Brian saved him from the perils of over-thinking. “Let me know how those pancakes work out and when you’re ready for a rematch.” Then he stood after grabbing the bags and left.

He watched Brian drive away and wondered where were those feelings of freak out. Of panic? In one night, he’d sat captive to a strip show—all male!—then drifted and made promises of hooking up with another dude that he really wanted to get to know better.

There was no freak out coming apparently, just the impending satisfaction of giving Brian shit for those neon blues in his undercarriage.

He returned to his pancakes. They were pretty damn good.

* * *

A few hours later when it was morning for the rest of the city, Dom stood in the kitchen making coffee so that Mia didn’t have to. He’d never been an early riser but Lompoc dried up the need to sleep excessively. A few hours and he was good.

Sleep hadn’t shaded the events of hours prior. Instead, Dom was left with one lingering question. He started a text as Mia entered the kitchen, zeroing in on the coffee like a hawk to prey. It was her fuel and currency on school days.

“You got in late,” she said as she poured. “Did you have a good night?”

“Yeah, I did. It started off weird but it got better. Much better.”

His phone buzzed.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35821314745/in/dateposted-public/)

 

 

 


	2. two (thinking about you 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dom thinks. Leon speaks. Brian makes jokes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.
> 
> Title from The Glitch Mob's [Between Two Points](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iaisDkR8Qg).
> 
> A/N 1: This story takes place in an AU of the first film, though characters will be brought in from across the Fast Verse. Just an fyi.
> 
> A/N 2: This chapter is definitely character development heavy, referencing things from the previous two parts and the background events that made a huge impact shaping the characters as we know them. For Dom, this mainly involves discussing Lompoc and witnessing his father's death and his reaction to it. So things he thinks as he reflects may be a little triggery. 
> 
> A/N 3: I gave Dom and Mia a small family tree. I don't recall the source who explained that Dom and Mia had Cuban and Dominican heritage, but Google informs me that Toretto is a classically Italian name, and the majority of our fandom assumed they were Italian for much of the series, so I incorporated the two. (My personal headcanon thinks Sofia Petrillo may be a distant relative. Picture it: Sicily, 1942...) 
> 
> A/N 4: The music inspiration for this chapter and the next is Frank Ocean's [Thinking About You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iHG0hj64JS8).
> 
> A/N 5: Dom is right about Brian's jokes.
> 
> A/N 6: I took liberties with the geography in this chapter and the next. If I messed things up too badly, please blame faulty memory and Google.
> 
> As always, concrit is appreciated.

Dom had to admit that he was one of those kids that had to learn exclusively through trial and error. More often than not via the hard way. Like touching a stove only to get burned in order to realize that there were things not meant to be touched, or figuring out when Mami said _ya_ and gave him _that look_ it was in his best interest not to get told again. But he _did_ get told again and came to understand that _ya_ was the end-all definition of stop.

So in four days, Dom learned that Brian—still no last name given—racer, stripper, and frequent visitor in Dom’s thoughts had a competitive streak so wide that it conquered technology. Dom’s learning experience came as a result of remembering to slip in his observation about Brian’s undercarriage lights. And if Brian then mentioned something about changing the filter on said lights, well, Dom could only say that Brian walked right into that set-up.

Now several hours later, Dom felt a particular amount of empathy for those city cats that wandered into the street and played chicken with expensive cars manned by drivers splitting their attention between the road, their mega-sized cups of coffee, and a backseat full of kids. Both the cats and Dom had stared danger in the face while contemplating if a dangerous thing was really coming directly for them or perhaps around them. The answer was: yes, the dangerous thing was coming right at them.

Dom read Brian’s text again; the count of which he’d lost back sometime around mid-afternoon. And it had, in fact, not changed since he’d come outside a few minutes prior. He had no one else to blame for what he’d gotten into other than himself.

He thumbed the screen up, sweeping over a blizzard of texts from Brian to the original catalyst for his previously dead battery.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35821314075/in/dateposted-public/)

Never had a smiley face been so ominous.

After that, Dom’s phone had gone silent, allowing Dom the opportunity to get some work done. The shop had a steady stream of business: a couple of simple fixes, a tune-up, and one engine overall scheduled for the day. Just enough work to keep them busy without cutting into time for team car maintenance.

Later, while elbow deep in a ninety-five Buick, Brian made his move. And the move after that. And another. And another. Until Dom’s phone pinged so much that Vince yelled across the floor, “Dom, I’ll answer it for you, if you don’t,” which forced Dom to finally give it attention.

Those pings were Brian’s epic blitz to demonstrate that like Dom he could make a joke. Or just bombard Dom with as many corny car jokes as comeuppance for Dom insulting his precious GT-R. As ammunition, those jokes weren’t just corny; they were terrible. The fact that Brian could produce so many of them doubly startled and impressed Dom in their ridiculous quantity.

Dom quickly learned that Brian gave as good as he got and some. Stemming from the night of the race, Dom’s estimation of Brian steadily rose. He’d been almost impressed by (barely) beating Brian that night; and now the blitz of the worst car puns imaginable rose that impression by a couple of degrees above warm.

Fast forward to now where the sun, embodying the early summer West Coast cool, dipped low near the horizon and shaded the city with enough light to be out and about but not enough to be serious about moving. That was exactly how Dom felt at the end of the day. Looking at his city gave him a sense of peace that being inside the house did not, and coupled with the expectation of Brian’s reply text, it was a better distraction than the places his mind could go.

Sitting on the warped wood tabletop was a bad habit he’d picked up the summer he and his Pop put the damn thing together. It came together from pieces of this and that from the Charger’s garage and the parts left over from the shop, and turned into such an unwieldy behemoth that it would’ve done Frankenstein’s monster proud. He remembered his Mami standing out on the back steps with Mia on her hip, a book already in his little sister’s hand, and her swearing it was the ugliest thing she’d ever seen.

The table was ugly but sturdy and easily held up his weight without groaning in complaint. Behind him the noise from the house wafted out the windows in cycles; the sounds of video gunfire and explosions ebbed and flowed with yelling from Vince and Letty as they rotated through rounds of game play and settled down to let the happy swing in conversation between Mia and Jesse float out of the kitchen.

Dom was smart—had a Ph.D. in street knowledge, hood politics, and the economics of peripheral communities (e.g. racers), to be exact.

But listening to Mia and Jesse talk?

Mia talking about alpha neurons, small nuclear ribonucleic proteins, and bio-interfaces made Dom fold his arms across his chest and nod his head really stiffly repeatedly, just short of a dashboard bobble head and say, “Yeah, you stay on that. You’ll figure it out, cuz you always do,” and then make a sharp left out the back door and away. Dom was smart, but even he knew when to recognize where he was outclassed, and his baby genius sister could possibly win a Nobel Prize one day and it wouldn’t surprise him. And Dom would help. He owed her so much and would do anything to help her. Just don’t ask him to listen to one of her science talks because, yeah, no.

He looked at his phone again. Still no change, so he read the last series again just for memory’s sake.

 [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35821314485/in/dateposted-public/)

“That is terrible.” Reflexively, Dom pulled a disgusted face, hoping that Brian had run out of fuel for his joke engine though he still wanted to hear from him. “He’s gotta have a book or something. No one can know that many bad jokes.” He deliberated aloud. Knowing that many bad jokes was unnatural.

Flickering through the memories of their meeting—date—meeting—whatever—at the diner, Dom clearly remembered Brian talking about a nine to five that didn’t cut it money-wise. So Dom figured Brian could’ve been caught up with something at the club. Strippers had to practice, right?

Worry was like the clash of sounds in the house: not the exclusive cause of driving him outside into the relative city quiet but definitely a motivator. He felt alive—almost jumpy in a way that made him wish he had thumbed through one of Mia’s old Word of The Day flashcards as there was a word to describe this sense of anticipation that oscillated south of how he felt inside a car and north of the cold rusted tension that spooled in muscles with just the thought of Lompoc.

His limbs felt heavy, almost cold despite the heat, and if he listened hard enough, he could hear the rattling clank of the metal and the snap of heavy locks dividing his life into a series of checkpoints between hyperawareness of danger and the slow slide towards freedom.

Hearing a familiar whir coming up the drive, Dom turned around to watch Leon roll up and park. The futuristic yellow on Leon’s GT-R flipped a switch in Dom’s mood, thawing the creeping frost in a ten foot stretch.

“They drive you out here?” Leon asked as soon as he got his door open and placed feet on the ground. “I keep tellin’ ‘em that they’re so loud. But they yell back that I’m just too quiet.”

Dom gave Leon a half-shrug. “It’s Friday night. What else do you expect?” They didn’t operate on a timeline like other people. Just look at Dom’s week: break-up on a weekend, hook-up two days later, nine-to-five between that, pull a job on Thursday, and wait for the weekend to return.

Hectic and crazy but it got them through.

Leon had been on a mission that afternoon. He’d driven through the race route for the night after with a couple of members from the different crews, all drivers like Leon who had the car to race but decided to hang back instead. They’d be posted up around a four mile circuit, making them as close to security as racers could get outside the big time set-ups like Race Wars.

So Dom motioned him over, “We good for tomorrow night?” He made an admiring sound as he took in the fresh white leather of Leon’s new Air Force Ones hiding beneath the sagging line of his jeans.

Leon pulled a case of Corona from a brown paper bag from the backseat and held it up with a winning grin on his face as he joined Dom at the table. “Yeah, we’re all good. Hector’s cousin…”

“Which one?” Dom laughed because Hector was notorious for having more relatives than bees in a hive.

Leon barked out a laugh and shook his head, instead opening the case of Corona. “That’s not a question I think I can answer? I know the dude, um, Victor is Hector’s cousin, though. Just don’t ask me how. It’s like asking how many marbles are in one of those jars at the fair. No one can ever guess correctly.”

“That’s true, but we have fun tryin’.” Dom snagged a barely chilled bottle from the box and popped the top with a slight flick of his wrist. “So anyway…”

“Yeah, Hector’s cousin’s got us a way into the hospital lot. We’ve got the spot for the line and we got somethin’ cool to keep y’all on course. The best part is that the start and finish line are inside the hospital…Garage, I mean. It’s underground.” The pride on Leon’s face was so sharp, Dom had to toast him, genuinely impressed the effort.

“Ending up inside the Linda Vista hospital was not how I saw tomorrow playing out. You sure the cars won’t be too heavy and make us need a real hospital?”

Leon shook his head. “Naw, we’ve got to circle through the entrance and far around the back until we get to the maintenance bay which’ll lead into the underground parking garage. Trust me, it’s wide enough for a few semis and the concrete’s still smooth. Either way, rolling through creep central will separate the tough from the pussies.”

Speaking of which, Dom pointed out the choker of bruises on Leon’s neck that were transitioning to the yellow green skin of platanos maduros. “You sure you don’t need garlic and a few stakes. Your neck looks like you were mauled by Dracula?”

Leon threw his head back as he laughed, barely managing not to spill his beer before hopping off the table to ruck up his jersey. Underneath was a similar constellation of bruises across his chest and stomach. Leon’s tats crossed his skin in big patches, different than Vince’s as they chronicled his life in cohesive way. Whereas Vince’s were big and aggressive, almost angry in the non-specific patterns of lines and color.

Vince was his oldest friend. Leon was probably the one who understood him best. Tangentially, Dom considered what the shared love of GT-Rs said about Brian and Leon? He wasn’t ready to merge those two streams of reality, even if he’d already done so by inviting Brian out to one of his races.

Leon was lean, naturally skinny. Looking at him, Dom didn’t feel anything new. He wondered why seeing under Leon’s shirt wasn’t setting off any alarms. His stomach was flat rolling in knots of muscle and, with the tats, he was good looking in a rangy way. Lean and sharp. The lack of reaction might have been because Dom was so used to him. Thought of him as a brother, like Vince, and couldn’t see him as otherwise.

Brian, though.

There’s a word— _scotoma_ that Mia had learned in one of her neuro classes. Dom knew it because he found one of her ten thousand flashcards in the shop and read it and ended up just liking the sound of the word. But scotoma described the way Dom could be transported to the dark room in the Fox Hole with Brian inches away, skin on skin, grinding and winding or the quick flashes of fantasy of Brian spread out or sitting astride him in the too tight space of the driver’s seat, looking down at Dom with electrified argon in his eyes and a challenge written across his body.

Leon smoothed down the jersey. His voice stood as a barricade to Dom’s thoughts. “I’m lovin’ my battle wounds, Dom. Every time, I touch one, I feel like I’m playing Operation—they burn, yeah, but I remember how it got there just fine. In a weird way, it feels like that fuck-up was the best thing to ever happen to me. Or honestly, the best thing to happen to me lately. The things I did that night…” He whooped, showing a rare side to Dom’s usually most taciturn friend. “Just sayin’ I wouldn’t be surprised if the wedding got called off.”

“You better hope that wedding is still on and that nobody finds out where you stay?”

“Trust me, after that night…It’ll be worth it.” Leon tipped the bottle back then shifted it back between his fingers. “Hell, I might even see if they’re hiring. Cuz that place needs good lookin’ dudes like the desert needs water.”

Drinking the Corona kept Dom busy for the moment, allowing his response of a beer-filled closed mouth smile to be enough. Leon was joking. Of course, he was. Even if he wasn’t, Dom would figure out a way to steer Leon away from the Fox Hole. There were plenty of girls at the races, which had always been half Dom’s problem, but the Fox Hole was different. In his mind, the neon sign with the club’s name rearranged itself to read _DT_ , making it Dom’s; a place that he was still handling but a space that he definitely considered his.

Dom admired Leon’s sneakers again. They were cool, yeah, but Dom knew how and why Leon had gotten them. There were other ways—probably much better ways to spend their money. “So those are new?”

“Right.” Leon agreed.

Everyone got a little stupid when handed a handful of money. It was so easy to fall headlong into the flush drunk that came from doing something well enough to not get caught and well enough to get paid.

Leon took another swallow and deflected more shoe talk. “Did you hear from _your_ cousin yet?”

Now Dom took his time answering.

When Dom was inside, he learned from some of the old timers ways to get good on paper and in the esteem of the hacks so that his time could fly by. Getting in good included going to the group shrink sessions, not that Dom used it as an opportunity to chat, rather a means to an end. Beyond the superficial gain, the sessions had given him some space and ways to think about his dad without slogging through the quicksand of memories composed of the hiss and pop of roasting metal and the salty brine of blood on his hands and face.

From the sweater vest-wearing shrink, still too new to be worn down by the rinse and repeat of the system, Dom figured out how to find a root. As he looked at Leon and took in the house behind him from the corner of his eye, Dom knew that all of it was his root for doing the jackings.

At first it was just something to do, because they needed it—the cash to hold on to home, the shop, the store, and the restitution he owed to Kenny Linder. Then what they did on the road became about giving Mia her opportunity to put as many alphabets behind her name as she wanted.

When they became really good at it, it reshaped itself into something modeled after Robin Hood. At least in concept perhaps.

Denying the thrill of the race and the snatch and go would be disingenuous, like saying that they were doing wrong in an effort to do right. The most honest thing about the situation was that where they—as a team, as a family happened to be—had already been set in Dom’s blood. So, in truth, he was only doing what he was always meant to do: be whatever people needed him to be. Just adapt and keep going.

His Pop’s parents left Sicily just as the war reached it shores and moved under the equator to Cuba. There, his Nonno and Nonna did what they’d done before the war: offer up their skills with cars and engines like they had in Sicily. They’d had a shop in _el Centro de Habana_ and had the reputation of servicing anything with an engine. His father had been born in Cuba but had lived there so shortly, he could hardly claim to have been raised there.

His grandparents came to Los Angeles with barely a suitcase between them and his Pop, saved up until they could buy the garage and then the market for his Nonna. His Pop grew up in L.A., raised on the stories of two _patrias_ left behind and given the fire to fight for something. So his Pop developed a side-hustle, from which Dom’s sprang, running things—any and everything needed in and out of Cuba by connecting with people and ports across the Caribbean, Central and South America.

Which was how on balmy tropical afternoon on a sidewalk in Santo Domingo, he saw five beautiful sisters walking back from their shop and managed to catch the eye of the prettiest one. His Mami was a tough lady. She made his Pop travel back and forth between L.A. and the D.R. for a year before she would even go out with him. When she came to L.A., she took the market from just a store to a café and possibly the only place ever to get pan-Caribbean-Italian food.

So this was how it started, and this was how Dom continued it. There was no war to fight, other than boredom and the fear that came from knowing how easily freedom could slip away.

He finally answered Leon after another slow draw. “The stuff should reach Rico in two days, then he’ll push it to Santo Domingo and then from there anyone who wants can have it.” Sometimes their methods were the only way to get people things that they needed.

What he did didn’t make him Robin Hood. They got paid each time they jacked a semi and bolted with the hold. Still, the cash they got was better than none and the thrill was richer, more savory in victory.

The only mistake Dom had made since getting out was getting into jacking the trucks. It wasn’t something he would have done before but prison awarded enough time to think and plenty of tutors to school anyone willing to part with some commissary snacks and a few minutes—drops in the bucket compared to the endless stretch of many sentences. Prison made bad men wannabe saints and good men become criminals. So far, Dom wasn’t sure where he landed.

Leon made a considering noise and slouched over, resting his elbows on his knees and watched the rest of the day bleed away across the tall spires of steel and glass in the heart of the city. Sitting in steady silence, Dom had the opportunity to consider his friend.

Vince, he’d known since the third grade, but Leon was the one he could talk to, with and without words. Dom couldn’t pin down when Leon started to come around but it was when they were still teenagers and he hung around the shop like a mangy cat that wouldn’t leave, so his Pop told Leon to show him what he’d learned since he was standing around getting a free education, and that was that.

A few years later, Leon started bringing around his little cousin that couldn’t sit still but had the same sharpness that they recognized in Mia which meant his Pop drew in the hyperactive kid into the fold and Jesse became one of theirs, too.

But Leon could sometimes just convey the whole world in one look. Most times, he was quiet just simmering in the background until he had a reason to spout. Other times, his insightfulness could cut raw and quick like the broad stroke of a machete and leave you wondering just from where you were bleeding and how the hell it happened.

So after knocking back his bottle again, Leon began, “This week, Dom,” he started and hissed low, “man, this week feels like it’s on a different level on the cray scale. I mean, you and Let, then that club—I’m still sorry ‘bout that,” but he continued before Dom could dismiss the apology, “and what came after and then last night on the road, shit. I guess that’s why we gotta go so fast. Just gotta do it to keep up with life.”

“Maybe.” Slow was a concept foreign to them. None of them had been slow as kids running through the doors at 1327, and now with the freedom of adulthood, they wouldn’t slow down until they found that limit that took them off course.

Dom’s been knocked off course for a while, which was the only way he could view Lompoc, as just a distant detour his life made through some wild and fucked up terrain. He had a handle of things better now, still blazing ahead while figuring out where he was still trying to go.

He thought of Brian then. That was definitely somewhere he was wanted to go.

Leon rasped out a quick one-two punch of a laugh. “Gotta admit, Dom, that I always knew you were a braver man than me. Cuz I love Let--like a sister. But, man, livin’ under the same roof as your ex?” He fervently waved his arms. S.O.S to a bad idea. “Naw, I’d feel like I’d have to sleep with one eye open. Knowing Let, she’d poke you in the eye for tryin’.”

Now Dom laughed, hard and ridiculously, easily imagining Letty sneaking up in the dark with a finger drawn, ready to strike. Definitely not hard to imagine. She’d caught him that way once or twice when he hadn’t been playing fair. “We were friends before we got together. Now, she’ll always be family.” They had an understanding. “My eyes—” and his balls “can handle Letty playing dirty.”

“If you say so.” Leon conceded, unconvinced.

“Yeah, you know how it is.” _After_ was unspoken. They’d taken breaks before, most because of his doing, but this felt different. It was final. A bridge blown up behind him to keep him from turning back.

The hickies drew Dom’s attention back to Leon’s neck. A juvenile desire to reach up to poke them was harshly wrangled, even though they looked like buttons just waiting to be pressed. He didn’t want to hurt his friend. “I think Mia’s got some scarves or somethin’ you can borrow for your neck. If you walk around here with a chain like that around your throat, I feel like Social Services may show up looking for a domestic call.”

“Ha.Ha.Ha.” Leon said, sarcastically as Dom chuckled. “Don’t be jealous I came out on top.”

Dom wagged his finger at his neck, “Your throat says otherwise.”

Leon settled down to lean against the table, swinging his gaze over the many points of the yard. “Mia said you got back late? What’d you end up doing, cuz the last time I saw you we were rolling out, but then, y’know, stuff happened and I got distracted.” He probed, proving Dom right about how quick and sharp he could be.

Dom knew the best way to lie was always by telling the truth. “Just drove around the port and got something to eat.”

“You didn’t try the buffet? It was nice!” Leon waxed enthusiastically. Leon hadn’t done much eating—of food, anyway, as far as Dom had seen. “I thought they might put us out with the way Vince chowed down and figured I might as well since we’d paid the cover.”

“I’m sure it was something, alright. My stomach’s just not made of steel like Vince’s.” The haunting gyrating of the firefighters returned from a dark corner of his memory, “But some things just make you never want to eat again.”

The way Leon grimaced, he’d remembered the same unfortunate thing Dom had. “Yeah, there were plenty of things there to forget.” Plenty to remember, too, from Dom’s detour.

“Alright, Imma head in and watch Let stomp all over Vince at Halo. You finish getting right with the universe, so that you can keep the streak alive. Since we’ve gotta keep things consistent.”

“Don’t I always?” It wasn’t arrogance, just a point of fact: Dom didn’t lose. They bumped fists and he watched Leon swing up through the kitchen door. His phone chimed. Finally.

 [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35821313495/in/dateposted-public/)

Sitting by himself, Dom didn’t have to play it so cool. He could enjoy the fluttery excitement that came from making a new acquaintance, whether friend or fuck, and settled into the moment. Getting his pride stroked was always a plus, and coming from a stunner like Brian, the label genuinely went far. He had less than twenty-fours before he needed to shift gears and take it slow.

The previous four days had built a swell of momentum that Dom figured wouldn’t be broken just yet, maybe not even in the night to follow. So he could take it in now and prepare himself for the night to come, for seeing Brian again, and getting closer. Closer to what, he’d wait until he saw Brian again to qualify it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Dom is a good brother who loves and is so proud of his baby sis. In real life, there's a 13-year age gap between Vin and Jordana, but for fic sake, I narrowed the gap down to 8.5-9 years. Hopefully, this will make more sense later.


	3. three (thinking about you 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A race and a meet and greet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.
> 
> Title from The Glitch Mob's [Between Two Points](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iaisDkR8Qg).
> 
> A/N 1: This story takes place in an AU of the first film, though characters will be brought in from across the Fast Verse. Just an fyi.
> 
> A/N 2: This chapter is definitely character development heavy, referencing things from the previous two parts and the background events that made a huge impact shaping the characters as we know them. For Dom, this mainly involves discussing Lompoc and witnessing his father's death and his reaction to it. So things he thinks as he reflects may be a little triggery.
> 
> A/N 3: Allusions to situational abuse and non-con.
> 
> A/N 4: The music inspiration for this chapter and the previous is Frank Ocean's [Thinking About You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iHG0hj64JS8).
> 
> A/N 5: I took liberties with the geography in this chapter and the next. If I messed things up too badly, please blame faulty memory and Google.
> 
> A/N 6: The Mazda RX-7 gets remembered in this chapter. Remember that car from the first movie? The one that actually started the Bri/Dom fascination. It's so under-appreciated. 
> 
> As always, concrit is appreciated.

At ten the next night, the pre-race ritual kicked off with Vince bellowing from the first floor, “Wheels to streets in five.”

Which resulted in Mia yelling back from her room on the second floor, “Vince, this is not a zoo! Why are you yelling?”

His response, a slightly softer and wholly contrite response of “Sorry,” rumbled up from below while Dom gave himself a final glance before shutting the door to his room and bounding down the stairs.

It was all par for the course in the best way possible.

The living room furniture was pushed against the walls with the low tables parked in between and the big dining room table was covered with cups and sealed bottles hugging the edge while assorted bags of this and that junk filled up the back. The post-race arrangements were always left up to Vince and Letty who could always agree on the ratio of booze to cerveza and split the difference on the food—with Letty arguing that there was too much and Vince just as adamantly defending that there was too little.

Dom was always game for a party, and race nights always left him and the rest with a special kind of hunger that only alcohol, too many loud voices, and the taste of food or skin could satisfy.

Through the open front door, Dom watched Jesse join Vince and Leon down on the sidewalk. The increased amplitude of Jesse’s mainstay frenetic energy had the kid just about bouncing on his heels and drifting steadily closer to his Jetta.

Mia came down the stairs with Letty behind her as they always rode together on nights like this. She passed him with a small grin on her face and a roll of her eyes that was equal shots of amused by Vince as annoyed. Her own excitement was marginally better tempered and the apparent confidence in her stride as she snapped her denim jacket from the couch got him thinking.

“You driving tonight?” He asked her and she shrugged a shoulder.

“Maybe.” Mia said half in and out the front door. “Let me see who’s around tonight and I’ll think about it.” Though she looked far from speculative about competing.

Dom knew that sharp gleam in her eye well. It was the same challenging look she’d gave him since she was three and held up a book to him and said “I read”, only to have then just turned twelve Dom scoff, “Bella you can’t”. Well, if Bella could force her way into his lap and read to him about Dot and Spot and their adventures, then his baby sister could wrestle any challenge if she chose to.

“Just lemme know. You know I like watchin’ you make little boys cry.”

“Of course, Dom,” Mia smiled then hopped down the steps to join the rest, leaving him and Letty by the door and in a rare moment of privacy since the final break last week.

She pulled down the rim of her thick black shades and roved her eyes over him from top to tip, so slow and considering that Dom had to resist standing up straight and puffing out his chest. An old habit when put through his paces by Letty.

Having passed inspection, her finger hovered on the limb of her shades as she looked him square in the eye with a piercing yet amused look.

“Looks like someone’s ready to play bait.” The corner of her mouth ticked up. “I hope you’re ready for that.”

Dom hadn’t done anything special for the tonight, had just pulled on one of his sleeveless black tees, dark jeans, and his black Tims and called it a night. With his cross gleaming at the center of his chest. If Letty thought he looked good, then that was one) as expected and two) what he hoped. Five nights since the moody lights of a backroom booth and a post-mortem text describing him as cute, so Dom wanted to make an impression and not leave Brian with any sense of buyer’s remorse.

“I’m not advertising anything,” he spread his arms in a show of innocence and she snorted. “I’m just looking for a good time, and if anything does happen, I know you’ll protect my virtue and my back.”

“Please, I’d like to see some ass come at you--” She bit her lip and sniffed. “I’ll show ‘em why that’s a bad idea.”

“As I know you will.”

She patted his chest. “Try to stay out of trouble, Papo.” The slow eye roll she gave him before sliding her sunglasses up was a gesture he’d learned to equate more with playfulness than real bite. “I won’t be keepin’ those skanks off you this time.”

He wondered if having a dick precluded membership into the skank club. On one hand, this hypothetical skank was a dude; on the other hand, he was also a stripper, so. Knowing Let, she’d square up her jaw and slice her eyes up at him with a pointedness that would make him and any other man guard his balls and answer unequivocally, “yes”.

“I’ll stay sharp,” he promised as they headed out the door. Even in the dark, the RX-7 sparkled cherry and sweet.

He got behind the wheel and signaled the team. “Let’s roll!” Then they were off.

He’ put the Beast to bed earlier that day. Just because he’d gotten over his fear of her didn’t mean that he raced her, or that had been the truth until he’d met Brian. The Beast didn’t get show-ponied on nights like this. No, he liked to win fair and clean, riding on his skills, natural talent, and the work put into his car. The Beast had been designed for one purpose: earth-shaking speed and power. The shit ten thousand or so that a kid dropped under his hood couldn’t compete with her big body and supercharged hemi.

So, yeah, maybe he’d done a little soul searching since then, trying to figure out why he’d switched it up from not wanting to race the Beast to connecting like she was an extension of him. His only guess: Brian. Maybe another face to face would offer him more insight.

* * *

Easing off the 110 brought them into the belly of Boyle Heights and onto the course Leon and the others had mapped out. The hospital loomed dark and silently, uninviting in its eeriness until his headlights flashed over the open mouth of the fence. He tweaked the engine and gunned it through, following the arrow down to the Maintenance Entrance.

A lone set of floodlights lit the way inside the garage and down the dark winding levels to the meet. By the fourth turn down, the darkness gave way to a rainbow spectrum of high beams. Groups of cars formed small satellite arcs off the main strip set aside for the line. Music rattled the RX-7’s tinted glass as he drove through a small school of long legs and rivers of tan, brown, and dark skin.

His heartrate picked up from slow and steady to jackrabbit on meth when his eyes landed on the familiar Voltron underbody lights. He finished his roll through the crowd until he could angle and reverse into the first of a series of spots nose towards the line. He spared the others a look after he pulled in but didn’t wait. Dom had swung out of the Mazda in a smooth roll, nodding at familiar faces and striding through the sea of bodies, chrome and flesh, to reach Brian.

As he leaned against the grill in a relaxed sprawl, Brian looked completely at home despite being on unfamiliar turf. He was people watching with his hands stuffed into his pockets, calmly taking in the crowd and undoubtedly the prospective rides of the competition. When he turned away and saw Dom, he straightened up and rolled to his feet and pitched a bright smile directly at Dom who in turn returned it with a small one of his own.

“I see you can follow directions. I’m almost impressed.” Dom said, falling short of Brian’s personal space by a solid two feet. He gave Brian a quick inspection, equally delighted and dismayed to see that the bland sense of style was consistent.

“Almost impressed?” Brian let feigned shock perfuse his tone. “Then I’ll have to roll out the big guns to shock you. Maybe I’ll show you that I can walk and chew bubblegum at the same time.”

Dom had known that his team had followed him over. The loud snort, obviously from Jesse, and the wolfish snicker from Leon just confirmed Dom’s expectation.

“Still riding on those jokes to get you places?”

Brian shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, maybe. Why, you heard any good jokes this week?” Brian asked with most sincere of sincere faces.

Dom just slowly shook his head and gave Brian props for being a consistent smartass, too. Exhaling low, Dom coughed out a rough series of laughs. “Yeah, a few.”

Brian’s focus shifted off-center for a second and then squarely back to Dom. From behind, Dom’s right shoulder he could feel Vince practically vibrating with hackles raised. His best friend was naturally surly on his best of days, down right vicious—think: a lion pouncing on a wounded gazelle on a PBS special—on his worst.

“Who’s the buster?” The pitch of Vince’s voice clearly swung towards the latter.

“You mean Po-Po here?” Dom said with eyes back on Brian.

Now Dom had noticed the other body in close proximity to Brian and his car, who had seemed to hang back just barely from stepping up when he and Brian first saw each other. Now, the dude had just slid off his car to stand at Brian’s shoulder and cut him an easily recognizable none-too-pleased scowl.

“ _Po-Po_! Naw, bruh, he can’t walk around callin’ you Po-Po. That’s family talk.” The guy scolded Brian with maximum affront in his voice.

Brian rolled his eyes and regarded his partner with a narrow-eyed look. “Cool it, Rome,” he said under his breath, then turned back to Dom. “My brother.” He said which explained everything and nothing at all. Then he started his introductions. “So, Rome, this is Dom. Dom, this is Rome, my brother. Who, um, feels strongly about family nicknames.”

“Your brother?” Vince replied, one-hundred percent unconvinced. Eyes blinking slow and repeatedly, only missing the word _buffering_ stamped across his forehead.

Brian and Rome nodded in unison, almost twin-like.

“Okay,” Dom heard Mia say. “Nice to meet you--”

“Brian.” Then Brian stepped forward hand out like a normal dude would do and walked over towards Mia until Vince stepped in his way.

Mia smoothly stepped around Vince’s blockade to shake Brian’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Brian and Rome.”

“Yeah,” Jesse piped up. “It’s cool to, um, have brothers. Just awesome.” Dom gave the kid credit, Jesse knew how to diffuse a tense situation by asserting his natural awkwardness.

But Jesse wasn’t done, having taken in the GT-R, he whistled in appreciation. “That yours?” He asked Brian.

“You wanna check it out?” Brian gave Rome a look, who went over to the driver’s side door and popped the release on the hood. “C’mon.” Brian offered.

Of course, they’d started drawing a crowd before as from an external view it looked like Dom was putting a newbie through the paces. Now that the hood was up, it was like feeding time at the zoo. The GT-R’s 24-valve straight six twin turbocharger didn’t need much hype to get attention. Coupled with the way Brian handled her, Dom knew Brian would get plenty attention on his own.

Dom had to agree when Jesse dropped a declarative, “Beautiful,” which could have just as easily applied to the car or Brian who grinned proudly as the center of attention.

Jesse just about stroked the engine block. “That 2.6 liter RB26DETT makes you look like a sure thing. That’s a lot of power here. How does it handle?”

Brian aimed a look at Dom and after a slow blink asked, “Yeah, Dom, how does it handle?” Like a battering ram to the gut.

Dom shifted his stance just slightly, feeling as if a bolt of electricity had just passed through him; though their audience didn’t seem none the wiser. So he shot back, “Like Jesse said, it’s a sure thing,” in a rumble.

“How do you know that?” Letty asked, which Vince seconded with a slow nod of skepticism. “And how do you know him?”

See, in the short and long spans of texted conversations that he and Brian exchanged this hadn’t come up through all the other airy bullshit. Telling the truth was a no-go from the jump. Lying was…obvious but hard without syncing stories. But leave it to Leon—Mr. Logistics Himself—to open his mouth and make Dom’s heart trip between his ribs.

Leon, who had joined Jesse inspecting the system, eased back and assessed Brian with the eyes of far-reaching memory. Then he snapped his fingers in Brian’s direction, licked his chapped lips before he delivered his discovery. “Yo, I do know him.” Leon pointed at Letty and Vince, too. “You guys know this dude, too.” They looked at him with twin scowls that easily called bullshit. “Brian’s Harry’s guy. The one who hooked us up with those Konig seventeen-sevens.” Which was way more than he should have said in public.

Letty dropped back, now recognizing Brian as Harry’s guy. Brian’s comment at the diner about the crap pay at the nine to five now had a context; one that was very close to Dom and had strangely never intersected before the club. Dom was still caught up in a muddy tangle of relief and worry when Leon stepped to Brian.

“I knew you knew your shit but I didn’t know you raced.”

Brian accepted Rome’s playful shove and looked almost sheepish as he answered Leon. “I don’t get to race that often, so I just keep it low key. I usually don’t go this far east anyway.”

“Where’s your spot?” Leon looked as interested as Dom was to know. Another thing they hadn’t gotten out in the open.

“The 323,” Rome said, challengingly. “Watts.” Another bit of color to fill in who Brian was.

“No shit--”Leon trailed off and then put Brian and Rome back under a high eyebrow scrutiny. “There’s this dude who races out in Watts that I’ve heard about and tried to get hooked up with so he could come out here but no one ever comes through.” Dom remembered Leon talking about a guy from Watts and then he didn’t remember what came of Leon’s search.

So Leon got to the rapidly dawning conclusion, “Are you that cat they call Bullitt?” Almost imitating Jesse by leaning in excitedly, almost conspiratorially close.

“Sometimes--” Brian said.

Rome crowded in with, “Yes, he is.” And turned to Brian with a wide, white smile. “Look at you, bruh. What did I tell you? One shot makes the difference between being hood known and locally respected.”

Leon gave Brian and Rome one-armed embraces. “Good to have you guys, cuz the things I heard about you should make tonight fun.” Leon addressed Rome. “You drive, too?”

The way Rome puffed out his chest as he answered Dom could easily slot him into the role of a stripper at the Fox Hole Lounge. Even though he’d seen Brian’s work up close, he still couldn’t quite slot him there. Rome, though with his obvious need for attention, probably did well under the lights and buoyed by the screams of young to middle age women.

Rome pointed to the Barney purple drop-top parked beside the GT-R. “I drive when I need to, but mostly I just _cruise_ ,” the last bit he said so smoothly obviously directed at Letty and Mia. The white leather seats matched the white loopy cursive across the hood that spelled out ‘ _Ro-Machine_ ’.

Leon made a show of nodding politely. “That’s cool.” He held up the big face of his watch. “Imma grab the others and get set. I’ll radio in when it’s time to roll.” Then he slipped back into the crowd and strode away.

Dom was fortunate for the six degrees of separation that Leon so conveniently brought up, which reinforced what Dom had suspected about that night: that Leon, Vince, and Jesse hadn’t been paying as much attention to the stage as Dom. Making the mystery of who got him the dance twistier.

Dom settled into the space formerly occupied by Leon at Brian’s free side. “So this is the brother.”

Brian’s knowing nod, spoke just as clearly as Rome’s “Yeah, I’m a brotha, who’s his brother.”

Vince knotted his arms across his chest, still standing between Mia and the newcomers like a human electric fence. “How’s that work?”

Rome sized up Vince in every dimension with one sweep, and Dom had no doubt that despite the size difference if push came to shove, Rome would be just as feral as Vince. “What? Oh, so, you noticed that we don’t look much alike.” Rome wagged his finger between the two of them as Brian bit his lip and looked away, “That’s cuz he’s got that light skin disease like Michael Jackson. The whole family’s Black Irish, but Bri’s just the real light one.”

“Shut up, Rome.” His tone as longsuffering as anyone experienced in dealing with the public embarrassment of a mouthy relative. Though it was easy to see that he was on the verge of laughing.

“You know I like messin’ with you, Bri. Just like it’s always five o’clock somewhere, there will always be time for me to give you shit. I’m just showin’ love, bruh.” The grin shared between Brian and Rome was saturated with familial understanding and highlighted their mutual share of above shelf attractiveness.

Physically, they were complete opposites: Brian light and lean with lazy blond curly hair while Rome was shorter by a couple of inches but much broader across the top and chiseled from ebony cheeks to arms, the fox-like slant of his eyes, and the clean gleam of his shaved head. Maybe attractiveness wasn’t just nature after all; maybe nurture had a bit to do with it.

Brian turned to Dom. “I followed your directions to get here but I don’t think it’s the right time to talk.”

Their audience wasn’t as attentive but still too close for any real conversation between them to occur. “Definitely. After the race maybe?”

Brian agreed. “Where’s the Charger? I didn’t hear it come through.” Despite the music and revving turbos, the Charger’s rumble would have overpowered them all.

“At home. I don’t race her here. I’m rollin’ in that tonight.” Dom pointed across the floor to the back corner where the RX-7 sat bracketed by Vince’s Maxima and Letty’s Nissan 240SX. “But I think I’ll drop back on this one, just for tonight.”

“Why?”

Dom considered Brian’s question and remembered a hard learned lesson under the brunt of Letty’s attitude and cold glare. Just because you liked someone didn’t mean you pulled your punches. Brian was on new turf tonight, riding more on name than demonstrated talent. Dom had seen his talent up close and he deserved to be the best for a night before being permanently demoted to second.

“I think I’ll let you build your cred up here first before I snatch your crown again.” Dom offered.

Brian sniffed, genuinely amused, and smiled, possibly not just at, but for Dom. “Maybe next time we race, I’ll be snatching yours instead.” There was that electric smartass streak.

Hector went to the line and whistled, cutting through the noise. “Yo, if you’re drivin’ tonight move to the line after you pay the man over there the 2G buy-in.”

Dom watched Brian and Rome share a silent look, one that ended with Rome’s silent nod and Brian’s quick, “Be right back.”

Rome slipped in beside him into Brian’s former spot. “You’re the dude from the diner.” He stated like the fact revealed some major plot twist.

And Dom could have just as readily pointed out that Rome was the one who skipped his shift, allowing him and Brian to meet in the first place. “I go by Dom actually.”

The sheer stubbornness Rome displayed by refusing to read Dom’s subtle intent reminded him of Vince. “So you two raced then got pancakes. That’s just cute.” Rome rolled his shoulders and looked away from Dom and back through the crowd to track Brian. “He must really see something in you if he let you win.”

Let him win? No, Dom gave Brian plenty of credit, even if not openly, but he would direct Rome straight right now. “He didn’t let me do anything. My win was clean.”

If anyone had been telegraphing their body language at the moment, it would have been easy to assume that Dom had just called Rome’s mother something less than saintly due to the quickness in which Rome reeled around to pin Dom in his incensed sights, which Dom certainly hadn’t done. “My brother doesn’t lose. Ever.” Rome barked back, indignation just rolling through his shoulders down to his core at the very idea.

Dom smirked in the face of Rome’s loyalty. “Well, he has and he did. To me.”

Brian returned then, obviously not oblivious to the tension and moved to stand between them. He turned to Dom, “I think I know that dude’s cousin.”

Dom laughed loudly. “Yeah, I think we all know one of Hector’s cousins.”

That wasn’t the end of Brian’s loose associations. When he got to the line and sized up the other five cars waiting, he made eye contact with Edwin, who groaned out, “No, you don’t race out here.”

“I do tonight,” he replied to Edwin’s bitter chagrin. Dom planned to get the story about that later.

Leon’s voice came across the walkie, giving them the go ahead to start the count. The count went fast, reaching go and a volume that could have roused any wandering spirit in the halls above. Brian wasn’t first off the line but he was close.

It was different being down in the crowd waiting for drivers to complete the circuit without seeing who was actually making moves. The only consolation was the checkpoints calling in which cars had fallen completely out of the race due to crashing or losing the route. Brian hadn’t been mentioned so Dom kept the faith that he would be pulling through the third point at any moment and saving the NOS until he got within sight of the hospital’s fences.

The fourth point called in from four blocks south, saying only three were left. The crowd at the line, instead moving towards the noses of their cars because the drivers, winner and not, would come in hot and the last thing anyone needed was to be sideswiped and lose a knee.

From above, there was a lone set of lights circling down the ramp and across the level long before the engine could be heard. Then down to two levels and finally one. Rome was jumping up and down, whooping as the Voltron blue underbody lights came into view. The other pair of drivers were only coming down the first floor when Brian cruised over the finish line.

Rome appeared in front of Brian in a flash, wrapped him up in a congratulatory hug and whacked him enough times in the arm to border on abuse while they were swarmed with new fans and potential female company.

The fact that Brian had searched him out in the crowd again spoke promises Dom wanted to get elaborated. Mia had stood beside him during most of the race. As much as he and Vince failed to get between her and knuckleheads that came her way, he clearly read the interest on her face as she watched Brian collect his winnings. That look was the opening shot to a struggle where Dom would have to balance eternal desire for her to be happy with the possibilities of where this could go with Brian.

He pulled his sister aside. “I know that look, Mia.”

“It’s a free country, Dom. I can look if I want.” She was eighteen. She could do whatever she wanted.

“Yeah, I know that. I’m just…”he sighed, because this would be an uneasy word game to play with her. “Brian’s a good guy. But I know he’s with someone. Or kinda is. I know it’s complicated.”

Now that previous look was replaced by his sister’s barely concealed crestfallen expression. In spite of his warning, she smiled up at him and patted his cheek. “Don’t worry, Dom. I’ll just look. You know I don’t date your friends.” And he’d never been happier about the fact.

She left him to return to Letty and Jesse when Leon’s voice came over the walkie again and was echoed by Hector. “Cops. Cops. Cops!” Then the scramble started. He waited for the Maxima, 240RX, and the Jetta to go before joining the mass of cars, and opted to travel the long way through the underground exit than fight the curves by heading back to the surface via the ramps.

There were less than a handful of cars leading him out and he couldn’t tell how many behind as they moved through the half mile of pitch black. They came through tunnel between a low nest of buildings on the back of the hospital's sloping grounds and near a single padlock separating them from the street. The first car paid the sacrifice by barreling through the fence and merging out on the surface street. Once out, the flash of squad car Christmas lights zoomed in at their sixes and each car gunned it forward, finding a single direction in which to split.

Hitting the 110 again was out. Outrunning the cops wasn’t the issue with the 110, it was the cameras that could track his moves, making disappearing twice as hard. He traveled fast and low, looking for a multi-level parking deck as his savior.

There, two blocks up and on the left, he found one. As soon as he made the hard turn, he cut off his headlights and drove to middle floor and parked between a pair of mousy sedans. He waited for five minutes in the dark before exiting.

He’d slipped on his wine-colored leather jacket before walking down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. He made it two blocks before he saw a cop car. He kept his head down and continued to walk calmly but it was all for not as the car passed him and looped around not even ten seconds later. Shit, no point in trying to blend in now. So he ran between the midlevel office buildings and hopped the chain-link fence at the end of the block to enter a second street and listened to the sirens grow louder behind him.

He’d just reached the end of the block when he saw the mega blue undercarriage lights and the silver body prepping to intersect his path. The GT-R slowed and Brian yelled, “Get in!”

Dom dove in the passenger seat and Brian was off before he could get the door shut. The red and blues flickered behind them but Brian was fast, weaving between alleyways and half run streets and stretching the distance between them. He drove like he had a destination in mind. He’d shut off the lights inside the car and beneath the body, leaving just the headlights to get them through the narrow neighborhood streets.

“One more, one more, one more,” he muttered to himself.

One last hard right turn put them off in front of a large strip mall with an open lot car dealership at the end of it. Brian parked the car between a big Mark IV paneled van and less than stellar Ford Astro. He reached into the back and rummaged behind his seat until he pulled a sheet of paper out that was more crumpled than straight. A few quick swipes over it, then Brian stuffed the paper into the corners of the windshield. From far away, the GT-R would look like just another car on the lot. But if they got too close then all the details would be for nothing,

Dom admired Brian for using a technique that he’d tried, albeit a little jealously, and managed to succeed. Even in the dark, Dom could tell that the GT-R’s interior was clean and had the low-key scent of being lived in without being funky.

The bucket seat’s leather groaned softly as Dom shifted around to look at Brian, who had shifted his watch from the street outside the lot to him. “This something you do often? Another addition to your resume after dancer and racer.”

“Don’t forget Harry’s gopher.” Brian punctuated with a laugh. “Which I prefer being called rather than his do-boy.”

Dom had to agree. Dom conjured up an image of a real do-boy and filled it in with the inimitable sorrow of one of those faceless dudes that had a finger hooked in the back pocket or with grasped shirttail in hand of a decades deep con, being led through the narrow halls bars and concrete in Lompoc. No, Brian didn’t strike him as the type to get led by anyone and if so, definitely not for long.

Brian continued on, “We grew up for a good minute in Barstow and there was shit-all to do out there, so we found stuff to do. Who doesn’t enjoy a good joy ride?” Everyone does.

“Look at you. Even back then, Baby Buster, was riding fringe.”

Brian accepted the jibe with a low dipped smile. “We made our own fun. Until we got caught boosting cars and a hard-nose judge was given our case and thought we could use some tough love discipline. Rome got eighteen months because he was younger but I got the full twenty-four.”

Shit, baby jail was a rough stretch for even razor wire street kids. Dom didn’t like the course of theoretic posits adding up in his brain. Because Brian was attractive—stupidly pretty for a full grown man, but take away six, eight, ten years…

To cauterize that flow of thoughts, Dom opted for confession. “I did three in Lompoc for second degree agg assault.” He said without any inflation of the experience. Just a presentation of raw fact.

There was no missed beat; Brian just rolled with Dom’s confession and kept his mask of judgment airtight without giving Dom an idea of where he stood. “Guess that’s why you were hauling ass from the cops, though everyone says you shouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, funny that. Everyone knows that you don’t run, but then you see those Christmas lights and instinct and reflex take over, cuz it’s either damned if you do or damned if you don’t.” Dom had always come out on the wrong side either way. Hadn’t mattered if his nose was clean or not, he always fit the profile.

Dom counted several obvious things flitting across Brian’s face as he looked at him openly. There was understanding, right. Plus, the punchy spark of just getting _it_. That other thing he saw, well, Dom assumed it equaled whatever Dom had been feeling each time he got caught up in Brian’s attention and definitely what he'd felt when Brian showed up out of the ether to get them here. “Are you gonna be trouble, Dom?” Brian asked, earnest down to the quick.

Honestly, Dom wasn’t sure. His Pop had always taught him that there were two types of trouble: good and bad. Dom lived seventy-five—no, sixty-five percent on the straight and narrow, and the rest was off-road dirt and dark that only he knew how to get through. Was he trouble? Maybe. But looking at Brian, who was proving to be more tsunami chaotic than placid waters, Dom figured he’d be justified in asking the same thing.

“No,” he finally said, “but I think you are.” Those first couple of nights after the dance, after the diner, and after the string of parting shot texts, Dom had wondered in the dark if Lompoc had flipped a switch in him. Set off a countdown for reorientation as part of his overall rehabilitation. He’d never looked at a guy like he looked at Brian. Had never thought about putting his hands on another guy the way his dreams altered reality and had him busting through the Fox Hole’s rules by touching back with hands planted across Brian’s back, feeling the wave of muscle and motion as Brian rolled across his lap. Knowing that it would only get sweeter, because Brian would lean over him and press down, and just roll through riding him with skill and silent determination.

Even now, he felt a different kind of coiling in his muscles as Brian watched him, nonplussed and unafraid. Brian didn’t fight the accusation, just leaned into it and moved forward over the console until he was clearly half-way, giving Dom all the permission he could to come closer to test his theory.

Dom intercepted him in one smooth shift, hand reaching for the back of his neck before sliding into his hair which was unbelievably soft beneath his palm. They played the swing-sweep game for a cautious set of seconds—eyes bouncing in out of sync loops from eye to eye to eye to lips and back again. There was no lead when they finally went for it, just sharing the mutual start.

Brian’s lips were like most that Dom had kissed: soft and smooth, minus the sticky matte of gloss. They slotted against Dom’s just fine, complimenting his—which were a touch thick by being just a margin thin. His kisses were strong and direct, communicating with each sweep of his tongue just how confident he was that they could settle for doing this now and figuring out the rest later. That part Dom had been slowly racking up ideas to cover.

An amicable silence filled the car, only to be broken once again by the falsetto voice streaming from Brian’s phone.

The seal on the kiss broke as Dom moved back, the wet pop echoing between the short-lived silence from the phone. Brian didn’t bother with the apology this time, just went for his phone and made a disgruntled noise. “It’s Rome,” he said and took the call.

Dom had assumed just as much. A slow churning jealousy flared as he listened to Rome squawk across the line at Brian, ultimately trying to make sure that his brother was okay and not caught up somewhere. Whereas Dom’s phone had remained painfully silent and probably would continue to be so for the next twenty back.

Dom spoke low enough for only Brian to hear. “Tell him you’re coming to my house.” To which Brian raised his eyebrows, trying to read whether the trip would be for an immediate continuation of the past couple of minutes or something else.

“I’m going to Dom’s place.” Brian said and Rome squawked again, loud enough to make Brian hold the phone back and snap back, “Chill out. I’ll ask.”

Brian turned back to Dom after giving the phone an all points eye roll. “Rome wants to know if this is an open invitation or the prelude to a ransom?”

So Dom had been proven wrong. He’d just heard the best joke he had all week. “Tell ‘em that I’m not after your tips, Stripper Boy.”

“You heard that?” Brian asked Rome, whose reply was indistinct but miles surlier. Dom relayed his address to prevent another round of pseudo-interrogation.

Apparently satisfied, Rome let Brian go. So used to his brother’s antics, Brian shook it off and turned to Dom, knowing that the mood from before had passed. “Do you want me to take you to get your car?”

Dom knew where it was and could count it as safe until morning. “Naw, let’s head to the house.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Brian removed the paper from the windshield and turned over the car. “Since you decided to invite Rome over, I hope you’ve got food.” Warned Brian as he steered off the lot and down an empty four lane street.

Dom laughed. “Maybe, if Vince hasn’t demolished it first.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

* * *

About nine blocks from the house, the GT-R gave an ominous lurch with the engine whining and then hissing heat from the sides.

“Shit, I knew I’d gone too hard with the NOS at the fourth stretch. Now the manifold is busted.”

“You’re lucky the manifold is all you busted.” Dom inspect the size of Brian’s NOS tank and shook his head. “You gave it too much, way too soon.” The whole point of NOS was to get a boost at the end of a circuit, not in the beginning or middle where the race was still very much determined by skill and instinct rather than speed. “I thought you knew better,” Dom added, relatively disappointed.

Then the sensors and computer panel flickered into angry lines of discordant color before snapping out black. After that, the GT-R trembled towards the curve and made a groaning stop, effectively dead.

“Shit,” Brian slapped the dash and sank back into the headrest, utter disgust painted across his face. “I know about blowing too soon. It wasn’t the tank. It’s the sensors. I let my brother talk me into doing a last minute pressure-release upgrade this is what I get. I told him it wasn’t fully calibrated and he swore it was.” He palmed his forehead. “Rome’s gonna give me so much shit for this.”

Dom was already getting out and stripping off his jacket. Pushing a car eight blocks was nothing compared to the stress of sitting in the back of a squad car while a cop tried to twist whether the pick up tonight would count as an extended second strike or reach right up to third.

“Your brother’s got some mouth.”

The askance look Brian angled at him hadn’t let up until he’d put something together, which caused him to stop and suddenly reset after which he vigorously shook his head at Dom. “No, not Rome. It was my other brother.”

Huh. That made more sense. Rome didn’t strike him as the tech savvy type.

Dom stretched his arms overhead before placing his hands between the spoiler and the trunk’s top. “We’ve got a solid eight to go: four up and four over, if you’re ready.”

Brian had been caught up watching the slow stretch and pull of Dom prepping his arms but didn’t miss a beat. Just slid his eyes away to dive back into the car to pop the gear down to neutral. Then he rounded the back to join Dom almost shoulder to shoulder.

“Let’s go.”

The eight blocks went quickly under the combined power of muscle and bullshit. Dom didn’t have to point out the house as cars lined the street leading to it in both directions, where the lights were on and music seeped out of the walls.

“You really went all out for the post-rally party.” Brian said after taking in the cars, calculating the presumed number of bodies attached.

“That was the plan.” They eased the car into a flat spot at the edge of the property. Dom anchored the trunk as Brian got back inside to yank the parking brake. Seeing the one-two-three-four alignment of the cars in the drive finally sparked his fuse. Anger now boiling in his veins because he’d been left behind without a thought. Rome might have been an ass but in the little time that Dom had seen and heard from him it was obvious that he cared about his brother above all else.

Brian read his anger and fell in step beside him. “Dom,” he said, calmly without a hint of placation. “—we can chill now. It’s what you wanted, right?” Brian tried to convince him.

“Let’s go in,” Dom moved the up the sidewalk and towards the steps, each step supercharged with fury. As soon as he touched the doorknob, he knew he would explode.

The number of cars had sorely underestimated the count of bodies inside his house. Nonetheless, Dom easily picked out his people—Jesse by the dining room table, sailing on new bravado trying to pick up a pair of girls out of his league, Leon seated on the arm of the couch talking to one of Hector’s cousins; Mia half-in, half-out the kitchen laughing it up with a couple of neighborhood kids; while Vince and Letty were separately holding court near the stairs; her with a guy who looked ready to kiss the tips of her boots had she asked, already willing to crawl through fire for her and Vince with a Corona in one hand and a lapful of girls, who admired his warbling on that psychedelic zebra stripe Fender of his.

Again, Brian offered a buoy through the bullshit by calling his name. “Dom,” he tried again and almost succeeded until Vince opened his mouth.

Having finally noticed them, Vince called out from his corner, bristling at the sight of Brian, “What’s the buster doing here?” He challenged with the ferocity of a pack animal fending off the lone wolf caught pouching in its territory.

Like Brian’s manifold, Dom gave way to the pressure, rounding on Vince and exploding with volcanic fury. “Him? Don’t worry about him! He kept me out of cuffs! Where were you? Where were any of you?” He roared sweeping his eyes over the room. Even the music seemed diminished compared to his sonic boom.

Mia came out of the kitchen, entering the gap between him and Brian and ready to diffuse his temper which before had been Letty’s job. Now she stood back and watched like the rest, her eyes cutting him a look that was as contrite as she would ever show in public but genuinely relieved that he was back.

Now a fewer ticks below the red, he looked back at Brian who he couldn’t read for shit and then at Vince. Vince looked moderately chastised and knowing his best friend, ready to get back into Dom’s good graces. “You done with that?” He pointed at Vince’s Corona.

Vince eager extended it. “Yeah, have at it.” Dom took the beer and passed it back to Brian.

Brian took it without dropping his gaze from either Dom or Vince who was ratcheting back up to betrayed and wiped the rim with the end of his obviously at least one-size too big t-shirt. Then took a long swallow. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Dom replied and made a gesture for everything to go back to the way it had been.

Mia pulled him aside into a quickly emptied corner. “You alright?” She asked. “I was worried and know how you get when I say that I am. I was gonna give you another twenty before I called.”

When Mia worried about him, Dom’s stock answer was that he was fine, and the more she asked, the more annoyed he got. So Mia had learned how to straddle a fine line between persistence and patience when dealing with her brother’s stubbornness to be honest.

He sighed, now fully locked down again. “Yeah, I’m good now. I might not have been earlier, if it hadn’t been for Brian. He got me out of a really bad spot.”

She looked towards Brian who had gravitated towards Leon and cracked a soft smile that wasn’t nearly as excited as before. “I guess I should thank him for bringing you back.” He accepted her hug and the kiss to the cheek that came with it. “Get a beer, Mano. You’re home now.” He smiled at the old nickname from when she was too little to get big words out and had to call her favorite brother—her only brother--something.

“Thanks, Bella.” She left him presumably to thank Brian while he followed instructions to get that prescribed beer. She was a possible doctor in the making. Why the hell wouldn’t he listen to her orders?

With Corona in hand, he made a circuit of the room, catching up with people he’d seen at the race and hadn’t gotten to speak to, then reached Leon who gave the bird’s eye recounting of how the cops crashed through and lost most of them through the scramble across Boyle Heights. It seemed he hadn’t been the only one with a close call.

Mia had taken Brian off into the kitchen. When Dom eased over the threshold, he caught the tail end of Mia telling Brian, “—he owns you now.” Which he really wanted context to fully understand.

She turned to see Dom behind her before giving Brian another sunny smile then left them in the kitchen. Of course, Brian’s phone chirped as Dom opened his mouth ask about Mia’s departing statement.

Brian chuckled as he read the message. “Rome’s lost but I think he’s close by.”

“Do you want directions?” Dom offered, leaning against the frame.

At his suggestion, Brian shook his head, instead rattling off a quick text on his phone. “I think we’ll head out when he gets here. I’ve got a curfew.”

There was a worry that Dom had precipitated Brian’s quick exit. That perhaps the quick transition from zero to Vesuvius had put Brian so off, that the make out and everything prior would be quietly shuffled under the rug and ignored out of existence.

Dom hadn’t actually made a plan for how this would go before he got back here. There was some vague intention of going out back with Brian and just sitting out there so that they could talk or whatever until the house was back to normal capacity. After that, we assumed they’d just play it by ear.

“You sure? I could take you back if you want to stay a while.” Which was probably the best offer Dom could come up with for now.

The way Brian smiled at him then was so bright, Dom felt like he’d been rewarded. “I’m sure. I’ve got the ten to six and the nine to three tomorrow.”

“That’s a long day and a shorter night.” Dom stepped back to let Brian out of the kitchen and turned to follow. “You can’t get much sleep with the schedule.”

“Not really, I think I’m lucky that I don’t need to sleep that much anymore.” Just like Dom.

They crossed through the front of the house towards the door. Along the way, Jesse, Leon, and Mia waved and made promises to see him around as they headed out. Letty and Vince were much quieter in their observations.

Dom followed Brian out on the porch. “You don’t have to wait out here.”

“Yeah, I know, but I don’t want Rome to have to circle around and wait. Cars like his tend to make the neighbors nervous, y’know what I mean?”

Dom nodded. Last thing they needed was Mrs. Rosas thinking some strange Easter purple Caddy Fleetwood was rolling up on the house to scope it out to do some damage.

Shuffling away from the heavy, Dom reached for an answer that was more relevant and less depressing. “So do I need to worry about my phone being infected by another plague of corny jokes?” If Brian said yes, he might gracefully concede now to save himself from having to scroll through pages of terrible jokes.

“That depends on you.” Brian offered with barely leashed smugness in his tone, totally willing to let Dom decide how he would respond again to any disparaging remarks about the car.

“Alright, Po-Po. I won’t insult the GT-R. Not tonight or anytime soon. I owe it that much respect.” And Brian, too.

Brian sucked in the corner of his lip and clicked his tongue. “You don’t even know what that means.” He said, letting mocking disapproval fill his voice.

The coil was tight again, triggered by Brian’s challenge. “Then next time you should tell me.” He drifted across the distance between them until their shoulders brushed, close enough to soak up the heat radiating off Brian’s skin and into Dom’s.

Brian sized him up, a slow slide that was far from aggressive, but pointedly lingering on his mouth. “Maybe. Will next time be a party like this or you inviting me to something different?” His tongue popped out to rub the deep pink border of his lip which forcibly resurrected the memory of Dom’s tongue having lapped the same line in the car. “—or maybe, I’ll wait until I can get the car.”

Then Dom saw _it_ —the in Brian was obviously giving him.

“What happened to the art of surprise? You and your bad jokes will have to come back and see what it is.” Dom followed Brian down the steps and walked until they were no longer buffered by the sound of the house. “The way I see it, you’re coming back anyway, cuz I got your car and there’s no rush to get it. I owe you a ten second ride, and you’re curious enough to want to see how I get it done. I’ll even do you a solid of making sure the pressure holds, so there’s no more coming apart too early.”

“A ten second ride, Dom.” Brian gave Dom a knowing smile. “I think you can do better than that,” he teased. “I think we’ve done that part at least twice. So I’ll do my part with the car and then we’ll just have to work together to make it to ten minutes.” He cracked a slow hot grin. “I’ve seen your power, so I’m sure you’re good for it.”

He couldn’t stop looking at Brian under the glow of the streetlights. Just returning the smile turned his way, remembering the warmth of his mouth, the heft of his body, the way he drove when Dom was just shy of the narrow ledge of panic. Dom wasn’t ready for him to go.

“You keep looking at me like you’ve got something on your mind. So, let’s get it out.” He confirmed one thing about Brian tonight. Like Dom, he pressed forward and didn’t back down by any measure.

“I’m still figuring you out and I know I’m not seeing everything.”

“Dom, you’re trying to look way too deep for something that’s not there. I’m simple. It’s just a fact.” Which was said so blasé that Dom unrepentantly snorted.

“Sure,” Dom drawled, thinking that Brian seemed as simple as a puddle of quicksand. “But just accepting that feels like I’m taking the easy way out. You’ve got a Clark Kent thing going, _Bullitt_.” Except much better looking, he could add. “You pick that for yourself or did someone give you that one.”

Now Brian used this as his turn to play keep-away. “Guess you’ve got to find out. Most times, I think it’s a little of both.”

“Seems like I will.” Dom promised.

Just the memory of Brian sailing through the open bay doors to part the crowd, almost immediately looking for him, caught him up. Just looking at him with expectation brimming in his eyes made him want to move. Now he looked at Brian and hoped Rome was taking the long way to get here, so that he could have more time.

Brian turned to him. “You look like you want to kiss me. That’s cool, cuz I’ve been told that I’m, like, the definition of kissable. I’m just not sure if you really want to do it on your step where the rest of your block,” he tipped his head towards the window behind them, “or your crew can see.”

Dom slung his arm around Brian’s shoulders; the angle of which made it slip from comfort to familiarity by its fast ascent up and over Brian’s shoulder to rest at the angle of his neck.

“You obviously don’t pay attention too well,” he tightened the hold and drifted Brian closer to him until they were almost face to face. A move that from observation through the window looked like something he’d done with Vince and Leon a million times to share secrets, which generally never stayed that way, or just bro-based affection.

This certainly wasn’t either.

“Prove me wrong, Dom.” The challenging tone did it.

A kiss to the cheek, one close to the ear was a placeholder for some other time when it would be just them and a no clock counting down between them. A low turn of Brian’s head and Dom caught the corner of his mouth and sucked it in a way that was far from friendly.

“You understand that, Brian.”

“Crystal quality, Dom.”

“Counts now three down. Should I ask are there hoops on fire next?”

“Don’t let my brother hear that because he’ll do it.”

Then the long Caddy crested down the street, stopping across from them. Dom reluctantly let go as Rome opened the door and stepped half out. Brian gave him a last look before joining his brother.

Rome gave him a jaunty two finger salute. Before the door closed, Rome said to Brian, “We’re goin’ to Fat Burger and you’re paying.”

While Brian laughed back, “Don’t I always.”

Then the _Ro-Machine_ was breezing down the block with promises in its wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Rome is a good brother. He and Brian are the best bros.


	4. four (earned it 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Before you got here, there was a plan.” To which Brian’s look responded, _Really?_ “And that plan had included asking you to come over and help with the restoration. But now, I can see why you don’t get much sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.  
> Title from The Glitch Mob's [Between Two Points](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iaisDkR8Qg).
> 
> A/N 1: Music is very important in this chapter. I’ve embedded links to the songs on YouTube where they appear in the fic. I highly recommend giving these songs a listen when they’re referenced. Eventually, I’ll have a playlist compiled for the story on the series page. 
> 
> Songs of significance in this chapter:  
> Caesar’s Dance: [Do What You Want by Lady Gaga Feat. R. Kelly ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5MWhrUGt35Y)  
> [Mr. De La Soul’s Dance: How You Like Me Now by The Heavy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jXdhKyIEQpM)  
> [Sir/ the D/B moment in the market: Earned It by The Weeknd](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xe_iCkFsQKE)
> 
> A/N 2: The inspiration for ‘Sir’s’ dance should be pretty apparent. Now that’s a bunny that needs to be echoed throughout the universe. You’re welcome. 
> 
> A/N 3: If you’ve read my other works, then it’s obvious that I love a good crossover. So if you take a gander at the Just The Motion verse summary, then the inspiration for this verse is listed. 
> 
> A/N 4: So as for the dancing, I was motivated by the idea that Brian/ Paul’s proficiency in fighting in canon could probably be extrapolated to equal talent in dancing, too. C’mon, depending on whom you ask, dancing and fighting aren’t that far off and certainly require a ton of coordination and rhythm to execute. Therefore, Brian’s a kickass dancer in this verse. 
> 
> A/N 5: Thank you to everyone who has commented on the story. This is my most subscribed to story to date. Actually, I have more subscribers than kudos. Since this is massive work in progress in the making, I understand being cautiously optimistic. Yet if you would like to drop me a line of concrit, questions, suggestions, kudos, etc., I’ll gladly accept them.
> 
> As always, concrit is appreciated and enjoy!

Dom had spent time off and on over the last day thinking of ways to explain Brian’s car being in the shop. As most of the team trickled in for the early morning start—mainly Jesse, Letty, and Leon, it was Jesse that took notice and reacted first.

The look Jesse gave the car reminded Dom of watching those commercials with sick and abused animals while daring yourself not let your heart break.

“We have to do something.” Jesse stared ahead passionately, still and focused in a way that was extremely rare.

“We will, Jess.” Dom promised.

“It just seems so…so wrong.” Mournfully, he grimaced. “So much potential damaged. I mean, I wanna know what happened, but at the same time…” Jesse hunched his shoulders like just looking at the car’s sad state was a terrible burden.

Dom patted his back then slung an arm over his shoulder to reel him for a one-armed hug. “Don’t worry, Jess. We’ll do what we always do: work miracles and bring the beauty back.”

On Sunday morning proper, he’d gone to the shop to get the tow truck while the rest of the house slept. The GT-R had been relatively easy to hook-up and move and looked at home inside the work bay at DT’s. His quick text to Brian letting him know that he’d taken the car and its new location got answered faster than he expected; then again, Brian had told him the night before that he didn’t need much sleep.

Brian’s offer to come to the garage to look it over with him had been a struggle for Dom to refuse. There’d been nothing overtly tempting in the offer, just that Brian had extended the offer so soon after last night’s display of bravado of Dom’s part. He’d compromised with asking Brian to come around on Monday instead.

Leon gave Jesse shoulder bump too as he headed towards the back to get his equipment for the day. When he came back, he hissed low, almost pained. “You weren’t in that when it--” he trailed off with a raised eyebrow.

“Yep.” Dom answered.

Leon nodded in solemn understanding, habitual toothpick already resting at the center of his bottom lip. “Now I really feel bad about the other night, Dom. How did Brian take it?”

Remembering the dash slapping which was a micro-tantrum as far as Dom had seen, Dom thought Brian had taken the GT-R’s malfunction not too badly. “He knew he’d pushed it with the NOS, but hadn’t expected the electronics to go sideways on him.” Since picking up Dom and flying a buck ten through Boyle Heights hadn’t been on the post-race agenda, Dom accepted his part in the GT-R’s failure. “I told ‘em I’d call before we got started.”

Letty came up to his other shoulder, fully outfitted for the day in her tank and weather tan jumpsuit riding half open on her hips and took the opportunity to make her assessment of the car.

“Looks different in daylight. We working under the hood only or are going all the way to make her pretty again?” She asked, having spotted the same list of body imperfections that Dom was currently cataloging.

“Just under the hood for now.” He and Brian hadn’t talked about fixing the body and Dom was reluctant to touch it. The aesthetics of a car were always deeply personal for the driver, because the art, like any piece of art, communicated a part of them that was intrinsic to who they were and how they drove.

Dom had mentally tagged it as a work in progress the night they’d first met; the unadorned silver body kit had no extra thrills, only seconding Dom’s previous suspicion. Considering Dom’s own quest to figure out Brian, he could hardly assume or picture where Brian would take the design.

Vince walked through the side door, grunting out a greeting as he went, and was already targeted towards the kitchenette for his stomach roiling starter of black coffee and orange juice. Just the usual.

Dom pointed out the two other cars waiting and canted his head slightly at the first one. “Real work first. The GT-R will still be here later.” That Dom could promise. “We’ll cut through the boring to get to the sweet.” And then they broke apart to get the day started.

He held off until a little after two to text Brian, using the excuse of lunch to step into his office and rattle off a text. He wasn’t hard to miss when Mia and Letty ganged up on Vince for either one) saying something dumb or two) saying something dumb and getting proven wrong.

On Monday, Mia had early morning classes. Which ones, Dom had not the slightest clue, but undoubtedly topics that made his eyes cross when he read the spines of her text books. When she was done for the day, Mia covered the market and made a delivery to the shop with whatever was the special for the day as lunch.

So in the office, he texted Brian:

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35821313075/in/dateposted-public/)

Dom exercising patience was like watching one of those Warner Brother cartoons where there was a ten ton anvil suspended from a single strand of rope over a gorge with an ‘x’ marked below while the Road Runner approached in a cloud of dust. In the battle between Dom and the Patience Road Runner, Dom would willingly admit that he, just like Wild E. Coyote, ended up struck a few—no, a lot, because he refused to wait. Dom’s sense of anticipation behind a wheel was impeccable. But everywhere else? That predilection _to just go_ landed him front and center to the many faces of trouble.

His new invitation and Brian’s decision to stop by was the quintessential example of Dom hand waving patience. Mia told him once that he didn’t _ease_ into things, just dove in and expected to swim. Well, as Dom put his phone in his coveralls pocket and headed over to get lunch, he started smiling, already expecting the head rush from crossing the streams.

His only regret: the possibility that there wouldn’t be enough food for Vince and Rome.

About twenty minutes after Dom’s last text, they were mostly done with lunch and just shooting the shit around the big lunch table at the back of the shop. The wide round table and its mismatched set of chairs took up most of the space in the kitchenette but was strategically placed to keep an eye on the counter and the open bay doors at the edge of the shop floor.

So Dom was the first to see the red pickup with the bold-point black print on the door pull up across from the bay.

Mia joined him as Dom screwed on the plastic cap on his water bottle and set it down on the table. “Brian’s here early.”

“Yeah, he said he hadn’t taken lunch so he’d stop by.” Dom said, watching Brian wave and round the front to reach the other side and open the rear cab door. “Brian also said he was bringing his brothers.” Dom looked back at the table and the unopened Styrofoam containers with still steaming lunch. “I think that’s enough to hold Rome. Let’s hope the other one doesn’t have a hollow leg, too.”

Mia made a small noise, then said, “I don’t think you need to worry about food for his brothers.”

“What?” Was all Dom got out before he turned back to watch Brian’s entrance inside the garage which was far from solo and definitely not with Rome.

He wasn’t the only one surprised by Brian’s company either. Behind them, Dom clearly heard Leon directing everyone else to clear off the table.

Dom met Brian about halfway in, Mia steadily by his side as if drawn forth by a magnetic current. Before Dom could open his mouth to say anything, she was squatting down to meet Brian’s brothers.

“So when you said brothers, I had much taller and louder in mind.” Dom admitted with a small reserve of shock.

Brian just grinned at first before looking down at his left then his right. “I know they’re a little much, right? But they’re good riding partners so that’s why I keep ‘em around.” Of course Brian’s arrival with the mini-entourage had drawn the attention of the rest of the team who hovered back looking on in fascination and dumbfounded awe. “So, can I use the table?”

Dom stepped back. “Yeah, yeah. Go ahead.”

Mia stood and led him into the kitchenette. Vince was the only one remaining at the table and watched Brian’s approach with a manically focused gaze, so intense that if he swore that he saw cartoon woodland animals prancing about, Dom would have believed him.

And also leave it to Vince to ask the question that everyone was wondering. “Why do you have….babies?” The last part of the question rose on a high inflection that sounded as funny as it was confused.

Brian placed the two car seat carriers on the table and slipped the black backpack off his back and down into an empty chair.

“Sup to you, too.” Brian said to Vince. “And I have babies because they’re my brothers.” Brian answered, then pulled back the retractable shade to give the infants air.

Still not appeased by Brian’s response, Vince folded his arms over his chest and looked between the infants and Brian and back again slowly. His face tight with disbelief as if he was waiting for someone to jump out and yell that he was on Punk’d.

“Naw,” he shook his head and smirked sharply, thinking he’d just realized he was being messed with. “Nope, your folks woulda been, like, twelve to have you and be able to have them,too.”

Brian’s cool was coated in a fine layer of annoyance with Vince. “It’s complicated.” He offered, his tone making it clear that any more questions would be unwelcome. He turned to Dom with just a fraction less of his previous frost. “You wanted to talk about the car.”

Dom had wanted to do that. Dom had intended to talk about the car and talk about other things with Brian, but Brian’s attachments were currently diverting every other train of thought that Dom had. “Right. Do you want to…take them…leave them…?”

Jesse popped up beside Brian then. “I can watch them.” He volunteered. Everyone looked at him surprised, because Jesse wasn’t known for his sure and gentle hands.

“Me too,” Mia said, much to both Brian and Dom’s relief. “They look so sweet. I’m sure we’ll be fine while you talk.”

Brian checked on the boys again who gave him owlish stares and gooey smiles. “These guys, sweet?” He gave each one a tiny car plushie. “These are the cutest badasses you’ve ever seen. If you fall in love with them, it’s game over.” Their little fingers dug into the soft material of the squeaking cars. “Be nice to Mia and Jesse, Twink and Tank.” Then Brian backwards walked to reach Dom.

Vince opened his mouth. “What kind of names--”

“Shut up, Vince!” Letty and Leon said simultaneously, shutting him down for the time being.

Brian returned Dom’s curious looks as they covered the few feet to reach the GT-R’s bay. “There go those questions again.” Brian said to him. “Yes, they’re really my brothers.”

“No, that’s not it. Vince is actually right. Your parents must be young to have such a wide spread.”

Brian shrugged with a touch of disinterest and slipped his hands into his pockets. “Like I said, it’s complicated.”

“Right,” Dom agreed. Complicated was how Dom considered Brian’s apparent family tree, which had produced two sets of brothers that were not phenotypically similar but rather on different ends of the color scale. Though the pair in the car seats were closer in age and size than Brian and Rome appeared.

“And Twink and Tank?” Sounded like something hippies named their kids after a long commune with nature and good weed.

Brian shrugged again. “Family names.”

So Dom continued to probe superficially. “I thought you were coming from Harry’s?”

Brian looked back at the twins and finding everything to his satisfaction replied, “Yeah, I did. Harry and I’ve got an understanding: he lets me bring them and put them in the backroom at the shop because it saves me money on daycare. And he gets to use them as his excuse for why his prices run high. Leon hasn’t told you about Harry’s spiel where says ‘are you trying to take food from my kids? Why are you stealing from my kids’ future?’”

Dom chuckled at Brian’s spot-on imitation of Harry. “Leon mentioned that Harry had changed tactics to go with the price boost, but he didn’t mention any prop kids.”

“Well, those prop kids are mine and earn me an extra fifteen percent on commission when Harry uses them to sway people.” They both knew when Brian said diplomatically sway he meant con people.

They regarded each other with restrained smiles in place as a genuine excitement rose in each due to being around the other, and memories of closer experiences stirred as they shared a few relative moments of quiet.

Whom would break the gridlock? The answer was neither.

Brian held Dom’s eye as he spoke about the GT-R. “Any new revelations in the light of day? Was I right or was I right?”

More credit was to be given to Brian’s vast familiarity with his ride. He’d identified the two major malfunctions in the car that night, and having done so, already knew of the ripple effect that losing the manifold and the circuitry would have. In short, everything under the hood had to go.

“This baby needs some TLC without being a casualty to science experiment engineering.”

“Hey, I trust my brother.” Brian shrugged. “He’s usually never wrong.”

“I’m assuming the brother you’re talking about isn’t the loud one or either of the ones in diapers.”

Brian made an amused noise in throat and cleared it. “Yeah, well, if I had listened to either Twink or Tank, then I’m sure my car would be fine.”

Being grateful was easy and being grateful to Brian’s Brother four, five, six, or one hundred would be an opportunity that hopefully would keep on giving.

“Before you got here, there was a plan.” To which Brian’s look responded, _Really_? “And that plan had included asking you to come over and help with the restoration. But now, I can see why you don’t get much sleep.”

“I can make time, if you’re open to tagalongs? Most of the time, we’re kinda a mixed-set.” Brian delivered jokingly. “Plus, they’re real chick magnets.”

Dom declined that idea with a simple look. “I’m good where I am right now. May be working on making things better. So I’ll leave it to Leon, Vince, and Jesse to reap those benefits.”

Ninety-nine out of one hundred times having female attention would be a plus. He looked at Brian as if he were his new barometer for attractiveness, making a fast transition that hadn’t sent him recoiling back into whiplash yet. So Dom didn’t want to push against the flow. Just go with it for the time being. So far, this detour was taking him somewhere interesting.

“We’ll work as we get the parts and let them dictate the schedule.” Dom pointed to the back and signaled for Brian to follow him. When they got to the door, he opened it up to reveal the relatively spacious set-up inside. Besides the desk and file cabinets, there was a decent leather sofa against the back wall and a large window with vertical blinds to keep the sun out. “It’s not baby proof obviously, but it’s a space for them to chill out while we work.” He figured it was a start.

Brian looked around the office, nodding absently as he looked. “It’s fine, Dom. They’re not mobile yet, so as long as I can set their stuff up, then I don’t have to worry about them getting into trouble.”

“Yet.” Dom supplied, trying to imagine what sort of trouble a pair of pre-teething, pre-crawling infants could get into. Granted Brian was their big brother, so Dom assumed the amount of trouble would probably be staggering.

The office offered privacy compared to hanging by the GT-R, though not fully assured. Common sense would dictate that doubling back to the events of Saturday night would be unwise. For once Dom seemed to be inclined to ride the drift and stepped back from Brian to lean against the big desk.

Daylight always made seeing clearer. It had in regards to the GT-R’s sad state. This was the first time Dom had seen Brian without the assistance of electric lights or fickle dark shadows. If possible, he seemed better looking in the sun: California tan, strong with a perfect fucking face. There was still so much to learn, see, and do. The dependent variable along the way consistently being time.

“You free-ish tonight?” Dom asked.

“I’ve got work.” Which they both knew to be the Fox Hole and Dom made an understanding gesture with his head, even though he was disappointed. “—but it’s not a long shift like the other night. Rome’s coming in, so I’m only on for nine to one. If it’s not too late for you, maybe you can come by.” He suggested optimistically.

Would he honestly go back to the Fox Hole Lounge for Brian? The enumeration of reasons why not could stretch across the universe and back and still have room for more. If he went back it would be just him, no one else; no other excuses for going back a second time. If he went back it would only be to see Brian. But the idea of seeing Brian was trailed by the propagating thought of the _and then_ that would follow when they were face to face. Dom couldn’t make plans for how his interactions with Brian would go, because nothing thus far went according to plan or with his normal behavior.

So instead, he decided to set aside the hypotheticals for later. Just focus on the simple fact of whether he’d go back to Brian’s home turf to see him. Brian had come to him, right? Not only had he come, he brought a big part of his life with him. That meant there was trust there, right?

“Okay, I’ll be there. Probably on the late side, cuz I can’t take watching Frick and Frack bounce around as firemen again. I think that almost scarred me for life. And I know I’m too young to carry that heavy baggage.”

Then they were laughing again, comfortably and in full understanding. “Enrique and Roberto can be…Sorry, Dom. I can’t take their set seriously either. I always find somewhere else to be.”

“That’s cold, Bri. What happened to company spirit?”

Brian gave him an unrepentant look. “I’ve got a job to do and no one’s gonna pay me if I’m falling all over the stage laughing. On the plus, if you come late, you can see my skills for yourself.”

“I thought I saw your skills.”

The mischievous smirk Brian cast proclaimed that Dom hadn’t even seen the tip of Brian’s skills. “You’ll see my real skills tonight if you come.”

There was no chance to make a rebuttal as one of the twins gave a loud shriek which had Brian out the door with Dom riding fast on his shadow. Standing in the mouth of the kitchenette, Dom was given another entry for his growing list of unexpected things.

The cause of the shriek that had now been identified as a happy one was actually Vince. Vince held one of the twins with its back against his chest while one of his hands made air explosions that had the kid enraptured.

Dom pointed at the twin in Vince’s possession. “Is that… Twink?”

“Yep.” Brian answered without looking back. “Should I be worried?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Like Twink, Dom felt strangely enthralled by watching Vince make hand-explosions with matching sound effects.

Vince didn’t care for most people and was already wary—actually pushing closer to the side of dislike in his opinion of Brian, but kids were an entirely different animal. As far as Dom knew, Vince didn’t know any kids other than the ones that ran around on their block and, with those, he hadn’t been that friendly, especially at Halloween when those kids came looking for candy. Vince’s default answer when kids knocked on the door, “We ain’t got no candy. Go home.” Mostly used for the ones whose costumes he felt were lame and apparently were undeserving of candy until Mia stepped in and stopped him.

Brian checked his watch and grimaced at the time. “I’ve gotta head back to Harry’s.”

“Cool.”

When they got back into the kitchenette, Tank was still in his car seat, far more alert than when Dom and Brian left him. Tank was enraptured by Jesse and Mia making his car zoom in front of his face. Added with Jesse’s mile a minute commentary about the plush car, Tank was being thoroughly stimulated.

Twink laughed at Vince’s antics like he was the world’s greatest comedian.

Letty called out to Dom from where she and Leon were leaning against the counter in front of Vince. “Dom, I think I’ve finally found the only person in the world who thinks Vince is funny.”

“The kid understands funny in any language.” Vince made a bigger hand explosion and Twink wobbled excitedly.

Brian and Dom shared the same thought that the wobbling could easily get out of hand and moved as one to get Twink reunited with his seat.

“Yeah, I can tell. You look like you’re fluent in goo-goo gaga. You also know that they puke or pee when you wobble them around like that.” Brian swooped up Twink who made a happy, messy grab for his face. Leon almost spat out his water, taken by surprise by Brian’s comment.

Dom picked up the empty seat and set it on the table again for Brian to secure Twink.

Maybe it was due to the baby in his arms, but Vince uncharacteristically rolled with the insult. “What can I say? Sometimes people are just talented.”

Mia bopped Tank on the nose one last time before putting the plush car toy in the backpack. “That’s one way of putting it, Vince. I’m glad you’re finally recognizing your hidden strengths.” Now Leon and Letty were nearly doubled over laughing while Vince looked so betrayed.

Dom made a silent question of asking Brian if he needed help. Brian nudged his chin at the bag which Dom took while he finished grabbing up the twins.

“You can totally bring them back.” Jesse shot out, then stopped and turned to Dom for confirmation.

Dom nodded. “Brian will be back with Twink and Tank. We’ve got a lot of work to do on the GT-R. So if anyone else has secret talents, start dusting them off.”

A short round of goodbyes followed, then Dom and Brian walked out to the red pickup. Dom opened the rear door for Brian to secure the first twin then the next.

“One last thing.” Dom said realizing their time was almost up. “What’s your name? I know you’re Brian and Po-Po—yeah, family name, I know. But who else are you?”

The question had seemed dumb as Dom spoke it out loud but Brian’s reaction of a slight lowering of his eyes and small curl of a lips conveyed the opposite. He reached into his back pocket pulling out a plain black wallet, opened it to the split and slipped his driver’s license out of the cover. Then he handed it to Dom.

Reading over Brian’s specs, Dom realized how unfair some circumstances in life were. Because Brian O’ Conner took a ridiculously good DMV photo, which seemed to support the cosmos shoving him and Brian together. “I didn’t know the DMV took glamour shots, Brian O’ Conner.” He handed the license back.

Brian laughed as he took back his license. “Only if you ask nicely, Dominic--”

“Toretto.” Dom shared during his turn. “Now, we’re even.”

“Alright, Toretto. If you come tonight, I’ll tell you the secret to getting that rare sweet DMV photo.”

“I told you I’ll be there tonight.”

“And I told you that things can change when you’ve had enough time to look at them, so I’m not holding you to anything.” Brian walked around to the driver’s side door and prepared to get in but stopped to face Dom again who’d followed after him. “If you do come tonight, just go to the bar. I’ll meet you there.”

“I’ll be waiting.”


	5. five (earned it 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finesse versus power was a perfect delineation between him and Brian. Brian, the dancer who had grace and maneuverability. Him, the battering ram that exploded through everything in his path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.  
> Title from The Glitch Mob's [Between Two Points](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iaisDkR8Qg).
> 
> A/N 1: Music is very important in this chapter. I’ve embedded links to the songs on YouTube where they appear in the fic. I highly recommend giving these songs a listen when they’re referenced. Eventually, I’ll have a playlist compiled for the story on the series page. 
> 
> Songs of significance in this chapter:  
> Caesar’s Dance: [Do What You Want by Lady Gaga Feat. R. Kelly ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5MWhrUGt35Y)  
> [Mr. De La Soul’s Dance: How You Like Me Now by The Heavy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jXdhKyIEQpM)  
> [Sir/ the D/B moment in the market: Earned It by The Weeknd](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xe_iCkFsQKE)
> 
> A/N 2: The inspiration for ‘Sir’s’ dance should be pretty apparent. Now that’s a bunny that needs to be echoed throughout the universe. You’re welcome. 
> 
> A/N 3: If you’ve read my other works, then it’s obvious that I love a good crossover. So if you take a gander at the Just The Motion verse summary, then the inspiration for this verse is listed. 
> 
> A/N 4: So as for the dancing, I was motivated by the idea that Brian/ Paul’s proficiency in fighting in canon could probably be extrapolated to equal talent in dancing, too. C’mon, depending on whom you ask, dancing and fighting aren’t that far off and certainly require a ton of coordination and rhythm to execute. Therefore, Brian’s a kickass dancer in this verse. 
> 
> A/N 5: Thank you to everyone who has commented on the story. This is my most subscribed to story to date. Actually, I have more subscribers than kudos. Since this is massive work in progress in the making, I understand being cautiously optimistic. Yet if you would like to drop me a line of concrit, questions, suggestions, kudos, etc., I’ll gladly accept them. Any encouragement is appreciated when trying something new. 
> 
> As always, concrit is welcome and enjoy!

The Fox Hole Lounge was just as bright as Dom’s last visit, lighting the entire dim block in streaks of neon pink, blue, and green. The Charger’s dashboard clock put his arrival just shy of midnight, still peak business hours as evidenced by the full lot surrounding the Fox Hole’s western boundary and the expanded lot next door.

Dom spotted Rome’s big purple and white Caddy with a smaller clutch of cars directly behind the building. There was one spot next to the _Ro-Machine_ , so Dom decided to take the gamble of pissing off one of the dancers by taking the spot.

Dom smoothed his jacket down but didn’t bother popping the collar. That was move for the desperate and an ill-conceived attempt to hide. Dom was already here; there was no hiding that.

He walked around the side of the building to the front entrance and up the sloping ramp leading to the door, where the big bouncer—tall, blond, and with a jaw broad enough to be part bulldozer waited. He sized Dom up with a slow scan then stepped aside with a frank, accented, “You go in.”

“Thanks.” Dom entered the dark hall that fed into a short stack of stairs around the corner after passing the coat check station with an ATM strategically placed for the clients determined to make it rain.

Stepping up to the main floor was louder than he remembered or maybe it was that the talent was better. The patrons were going wild over a dancer—a non-fireman—who was essentially carrying around a woman with a giant tiara on her head that had her legs wrapped around his waist. The song declared that [you could do whatever you wanted to the singer’s body ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5MWhrUGt35Y)and the fake princess was taking advantage of that access by alternating between clutching and stroking the dancer like a Persian rug.

Having seen enough Dom headed to the bar which wasn’t as densely populated as before. He found a seat between two sets of loud talking friends who each started throwing elbows at their companions as soon as he was sighted. _Oh, shit._ That little remark about fearing for his safety hadn’t been a full joke. Because Pair A on the right were closer to retirement age and Pair B was clearly celebrating non-elbowing friend’s eighteenth birthday. So, basically he found himself stuck in a real Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom situation.

“You Dom?” He faced front to meet the eyes of the petite bartender. Without waiting for him to answer, she set down an icy Corona on a napkin, popped the cap, and eased down the line again.

She came back with a pair of highlighter yellow blended drinks for Pair A and pointed directions down to a table near the floor. Then she made her way over to Pair B and spoke lowly where Dom couldn’t hear but could make out her gesturing to the private rooms in the back. Not a bad way to spend an eighteenth birthday, he supposed.

When he was finally alone at the bar, she returned. “So I was right. You are Dom.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing that I was expected.” He made a move to reach for his wallet but she brushed him off and began wiping down the countertop.

“It’s on the house. Brian told me to look out for his friend and from what I can see, you are everything that he described.” She was petite and forthright, probably about Mia’s age if only a little older and gave the significant impression that she had spunk.

Curious about Brian’s specs on him, Dom asked, “Which was?”

She finished with the counter and took a step back to survey her work. “ _Everything_.” she waved the towel in his general direction, “Big dude. Bald. Hot—that’s my two cents. And probably trying hard to not look terrified at the prospect of being fresh meat.”

She was fairly accurate, except for one thing. “I wasn’t scared.” He took a drink.

She flashed him an indulgent grin so palpable, it should’ve been served with a pat on the head. “Sure, if you say so. From where I was standing while you were in between rock,” she pointed where Pair A had been, “and hard place,” Pair B’s spot, “you looked just fine.”

Well, she had a point. “Thanks for the save then.”

“You’re welcome. By the way, Brian’s got one more dance. Then he’s done if he doesn’t get called to the back.” She made a gesture for him to wait and walked down to the opposite end of the bar where a waitress waited with an order. She opened the below bar ice chest, filled a tin bucket and shoved a few longnecks inside before passing it back.

Dom watched her walk over to a smaller alcove separated by a narrow door and window. The lights flickered and the internal house mic turned up, her voice was carried over the dying throes of the do what you want body song.

“Let’s give it up for Caesar!” Screams and yowls filled the air, shaking the room by following her command. “Alright, House, it’s time to take a step back in time and welcome the smoothest old school gentleman you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. [Welcome Mr. De La Soul to the stage!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jXdhKyIEQpM)”

If the crowd had been wild before, the next performer had just elevated them to absolutely insane. The music started with a brash set of horns and flirty guitar riffs that were obviously classic R ‘n B inspired. Dom turned to the stage just as the curtains split and a dancer in a purple suit and black tipped hat did a long series of hip-foot twists that maneuvered him to the center of the stage.

It was Rome.

Rome moved with perfect synchrony with the music, pointedly dipping his shoulders as he unbuttoned the jacket. He moonwalked down the catwalk as the song began to transition into the chorus. As the singer asked how the crowd liked him now, Rome threw the jacket into the crowd and broke into a complicated series of steps that were much smoother and coordinated than the Running Man. He hip-rocked and shuffle-stepped back to the top of the stage, finally reaching the pole and using it for leverage as he dropped into gyrating squats at all four corners. He leapt back up as the song shifted down tempo again before the chorus, but as he went up his shirt came off and into the crowd.

Rome took to the catwalk again stirring his hips and twisting his feet much in the way that had made James Brown famous. He slowed again and started his side to side point and step rocking until the tempo picked up and turned hard into the chorus where Rome leapt into the air, legs wide and landed in a full split. He rolled back up to his feet as if an invisible hand pulled on his puppet strings.

Money flew across the stage as he stripped down to his mini-black shorts and continued twisting and turning across the floor. As the song rose to its climax, Rome threw in a few more splits; one of which after grasping the pole turning upside down, around, and released to land on the ground.

When he finished, he took a bow and gathered up the components of his costume that were still on stage. He gathered up some of the money, but most was collected by a younger guy carrying a basket that Dom had just noticed.

The bartender was back, leaning on the bar not far from Dom. Most definitely waiting for his reaction. “Holy shit, Rome’s actually good.” Brian hadn’t been downplaying the stripping that night in the bar when he said his brother danced, too. Rome could actually dance.

“We’ve got a few guys who’re good like Orange Julius, Slap Jack, Dwight, Alex, and Caesar. But Rome and Brian are amazing. They’re actually dancers, not just strippers.”

“That’s obvious and you’re not just the bartender.”

“No, I’m--” She didn’t get finish speaking because a small fox-faced man appeared beside Dom, looking at him none too pleased.

Fox Face wore a tight expression that suggested annoyance and superiority in one flinty look. He turned to Dom, gave an unimpressed scan, and crossed his arms over his chest scowling. “You here as talent or muscle?” asked Fox Face.

“Neither.” Dom cocked a brow as he stared back at Fox Face. “Just here for the show.”

Fox Face gave him a dismissively knowing look, like Dom was prepping to set the bar on fire just to watch it burn. “Hmm, you tell Roberto, that if he wants to stick a needle in his ass to get jacked, then he can buy that shit at the gym like the rest. You’re not buying or selling any of that shit here.”

The bartender smacked the bar, drawing Fox Face’s ire and preventing Dom’s hand from going to the asshole’s throat. “Stasiak, he’s not here for that either. He’s a real friend of a performer and was told to wait here since he paid the cover. He’s here for Brian.” She explained through carefully and deliberately selected words. Like she’d had the painstaking experience of having to remove this guy’s head from his ass on a routine occasion.

Fox Face aka Stasiak straightened up just a hair, causing him to say, “Oh,” and then another, “Oh. Well, back to work Sophie,” before shrugging and walking away without his previous bluster.

Dom pointed after him. “That guy--”

The bartender—Sophie waved him off with one hand and flipped him off with the other. Her expression explained how thoroughly well-versed she was with Stasiak being an ass. “I tell myself that I’ll do anything for my tips. I’ll keep someone from punching him in the face if it means that my tips can pay my rent, buy my books, and keep me from eating ramen every day of the week.” He saluted her for that. “FYI,” she popped the top on another beer for a waiting customer, “Brian’s punched him twice in the face already and broke his nose once.”

Dom was equal measures proud and low-key turned on.

Sophie continued wistfully, “I got him a balloon and a cupcake to celebrate. But I’m pretty sure Rome ate the cupcake and a new divorcee may have popped the balloon….”she wiped the counter solemnly, still reflecting, “I tried though. He did what all of us have wanted to do since forever.”

“Yeah, you did.” He’d pegged her right as a college kid. He felt that universal swell of big brother empathy for her, overly glad that she’d been able to find work behind the bar and in the DJ booth instead of the other side.

“You’re also the DJ?”

Sophie shrugged. “I’m whatever I have to be to keep this place going.” She whipped out her fingers and began to count, “Bartender, DJ, choreographer, seamstress, therapist... Whatever is needed I get it done between the hours of 5pm to 3am.” Real vampire hours.

She pulled out another beer from the stock below the counter and slid it over without him asking. Before he took it, he watched a short play of decision making on her face before she spoke. “I’ve gotta get back to the booth, but I wanted you to know that Brian is up next if you want to see what I mean about the talent.”

Dom paused with the beer halfway up to his mouth, fully stopped to watch her go, and put it down. He tracked her progress into the DJ booth and listened as the house mic came up again and the music turned down, the stage behind him already fading to black.

“Let’s thank Mr. De La Soul again for showing us the meaning of a classic get-down.” The crowd applauded and howled under the cover of darkness, though the shapes of figures moving could be seen above on the stage. “Up next, [let’s welcome the businessman, Sir](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xe_iCkFsQKE). Just sit back and follow his lead. Sir is ready to see you now.” Sophie purred over the mic.

The house lights rose just enough to show the three women seated in chairs across the wide arm of the stage, each wearing a small eye coverlet. The song started with a low crescendo-decrescendo of drums and strings. As the singer began to sing, the curtain parted welcoming _Sir_ to the stage. Sir wore a fitted gray suit that exposed a blood red tie at the collar. A mask covered his eyes. The combed back sweep of his hair under the stage lights made it appear almost bronze rather than blond.

Sir moved with a low sway as the music rolled, reaching the first seated woman and coming to stop behind her. He started at her neck, running his hands down her throat and down into a caress of her shoulders and arms until he reached her wrists. He pulled her wrists up and extended them over the back of his neck, allowing him to bend down and slide his face over the hollow of the woman’s throat. Sir straightened his back, slowly rising to break her hold over his neck, then he was standing with her wrists between his hands. He rounded the front of her chair, he moved to kneel at her feet, the change of position showed her to be in charge. He guided her hands under the jacket until it began to slide down his shoulders, across his back and down to the stage to settle behind him. Her hands were guided to his tie where they reeled him in and back like a silk leash in her hands until he spread her legs curved his body to the melody and sinuously rose between her parted thighs. The loosened tie slipping free of her hands as he rose.

Sir slipped between first and the second chair, coming to stand behind the second woman. He leaned forward bowing over her, his hands going for her legs, pulling them open and shut to the beat until he finally shut them and traversed his hands slowly up her thighs and cross cuts over her body. Her hands came up to grasp his wrist, restraining him just enough to drop Sir down between her open knees. Her hands played over his wrist, undoing the cuffs before swimming over his chest to pull at the buttons on his collared shirt. Sir ripped the shirt, spraying buttons across the stage, leaving his arms trapped behind his back still stuck in the shirt. As he bowed into her lap, the woman’s arms flowed over his back down to the top of his pants and slowly up again over his neck to fist his hair, snapping his head up. The shirt fell away as he began to rise from the floor while the woman’s hands glided over the main points of his chest and stomach without hesitation, only losing her grip when she made for his tie again.

Third woman went for his belt, sliding it from its loops but let it ride over the crests of his hips and over his flanks as he swayed within the half-loop. Sir forced her hands back so that the belt could settle over her shoulders, descending down her back until it fell to the floor. He swayed with her until she took his hand, rising from the chair and slinking over to the pole where he stood behind her, the tie no longer around his neck but doubled in his hands as he wrapped it around her wrists and crept it down the slopes of her arms until it fell away at her chest. The ends of the tie returned to her hands and ended up wrapped around his wrists as he kneeled at the base of the pole, body wrenching closer to hers with each beat. Finally, he broke through the tie’s binding, moving to grasp the woman until they could sway back to front, hands and arms locked until he could list her down to the floor gently. Rolling over her body as the strings faded out now that they had each earned it. He eased back once, then slowly crawled up the length of her body, dropping his hips into her as the music ended.

Once the music stopped, he helped the woman up and Sir took a bow. The room remained silent for a long beat before it exploded in applause and standing and screaming. Dom swore he heard more than a few women actually crying. After a performance like that, Dom was left with genuine discomfort making itself known as he was forced to make a quick reach down.

He honestly hoped that that performance was the last of the night. No act could follow that without looking subpar.

“You should go to the back.” Sophie instructed now back at the bar. “Duck back there now before the patrons start prepping to go home. Some looking, more persistently than others, for company to join them.”

Dom followed her instructions which were mainly to take the hall to the left of the VIP rooms and continue until he reached the last door. He knocked on the door which was eventually opened by a light-complexioned black dude with blue eyes.

“Can I help you?” The dude said a bit put out.

“I’m looking for Brian.” Then the door was snatched out of the guy’s hands, swinging wide to reveal a grinning Rome.

“Sup, man! You came tonight, hot damn!” Rome pushed between the other guy and door and issued him an annoyed look, waving him off. “Ain’t nobody checkin’ for you, Slap Jack. Fall back, dude.”

The stripper now known as Slap Jack yelled back at Rome, “You’re an asshole, Rome,” in a tone that, like Sophie’s, must have been used often.

“Well, I’m a rich asshole. _Anyway_ ,” he turned back to Dom. “Bri’s in the shower. I’d invite you in but it’s like a circus act in a phone booth in here. I’ll let Bri know you came back. What did you think about the show?” He asked with a wide grin, obviously fishing for compliments.

“Mr. De La Soul, huh? I can definitely see the soul part. James Brown would be proud that you stole his moves."

“Only for the greater good, Dom.” If the greater good meant getting paid and laid, then Rome had definitely done the world a major service.

Given Dom’s options of heading back to the bar and the stampede described by Sophie or playing musical chairs in a thimble-sized locker room, he’d take the hall without question.

There was another door a few feet up and to the left. The door opened with a stern looking middle aged man coming out. He appeared too clean cut for a place like this but carried an air of undeniable authority. Meaning he hadn’t said a word and Dom already disliked him.

“You here to try-out for muscle or talent?” He pointedly asked Dom.

“Neither and I’m not dealing either. Just waiting for a friend.” Dom said.

Unlike Fox Face, the Boss thought twice of insulting someone who had paid the cover—once. Luckily, he was saved from any additional conversation by the dressing room door opening to reveal Brian. He had a shower flush and hair visibly wet but not dripping.

Brian and the Boss regarded each other for a tense moment. “Brian.” The Boss acknowledged.

“Penning.”

“Good set,” the older man said and walked away.

That was awkward.

Dom turned back to Brian. “You just seem to make friends everywhere you go.”

“It’s another complicated story.”

Complicated was a recurring theme with Brian O’ Conner. A thought for later. Dom pushed off the wall. “You exhausted or do you have something left in the tank?”

“I can go a while longer.” Brian said.

“Then come with me.”

“I rode with Rome tonight.”

“I can take you home, too.”

Brian partially turned in the door, yelling to Rome, “I’ll be home later.” Rome said something that got a laugh from the guys inside. Brian’s response was a shake of his head and a half-grin back at Dom. “Don’t worry about it, Rome.”

After making his promises and reassurances, Brian closed the door and moved over to Dom. “We’re good.”

“You hungry?” Just watching the sets had left Dom starving.

“I could eat.”

“Good, I know a place that won’t give you hepatitis.”

* * *

 When Dom promised to take Brian to a place where hepatitis wasn’t on the menu, he only had one place in mind given the hour. After parking on the curve in front of the market, Brian looked up at the sign, read it and turned back to Dom somewhat amused.

“This part of the DT franchise?”

Dom unlocked the security cage door and slid it back, the groan of the iron reminding him to lube the joints the next day, and then went to work on opening the set of locks for the main door. “I don’t know about franchise material. Most of the recipes are family things and are too slow for the line at Mickey D’s to imitate. Figured we could come here since the owner wouldn’t mind.”

Inside, Dom flipped the lights and shrugged off his jacket before heading into the back.

“What’s the deal with that place? The higher-ups are a real pair of pricks.” Obviously neither Penning nor Stasiak had heard that the customer was always right or just innocent until proven guilty. Their separate interrogations hadn’t left Dom greatly inspired to think that there would be much job security at the club. “I got asked twice if I was looking for a job or coming to sell.”

“They’re having a hard time holding on to talent right now. We’ve had a bunch of guys come through who were pretty good and each time they got big enough to have a following, they split or got pouched to go out to one of the bigger places in WeHo or Silver Lake. So they’re tiptoeing between being outright assholes and paranoid.”

He watched Dom open the heavy steel door of the fridge and sort through the contents on the shelf before adding, “At the end of the day, it’s about business. No one’s got time to get invested if it’s all gonna go flat.”

That last bit carried the weight of a verbal uppercut, forcing Dom to close the fridge door and just regard Brian for a second. He needed to stop, just think for a moment to figure out two very important things: what did Brian want, right now and otherwise, and what did he want?

The best way to get either answer was to ease into it, starting on a long circuit to arrive at the same destination, picking up as much detail as he needed along the way. “What about the selling shit part? They don’t piss test you like everyone else who has to pay taxes? The only way for that fox face asshole Stasinsky--”

“Stasiak,” Corrected Brian, empathetically rolling his eyes.

Brian finished his inspection of the kitchen, eyes rounding the old black and white photos mounted on the wall and the posters of colorful maps of the Caribbean and Italy in the free spaces opposite the grill and prep line. He settled into an empty corner between the end of the prep counter facing the bar and the end of the grill line.

“Yeah, Stasiak. Your bartender, Sophie, had to vouch for me so he’d back the hell off and quit yanking my chain. He only backed off when she told him I’d paid the cover and that I was there to see you.” Then he thought about Sophie’s wistful pride in Brian taking Stasiak down a peg. “I also hear that you and management don’t get along. Sophie’s real proud of you for breaking Stasiak’s nose.”

Dom had never seen someone visible shake off praise until Brian, who took his statement and essentially deflected it by looking off at a painted map of Cuba while scratching the back of his head. “One, Stasiak is an asshole and would drive a flock of nuns to gang-stomp him. So, me laying into him wasn’t that special.” Not according to Sophie. “Two, they try to run a clean house, but the dancers do whatever they think they need to get by. Or just get an edge. Our shift is the problem shift; the chicks keep it clean. Some of our guys think it’s all about power rather than finesse.” Brian relaxed against the counter drawing his arms up and over his head in a lazy stretch, the action forcing Dom’s memory to superimpose the sight of Sir restrained by the tie bound to the pole over the idle gesture in his kitchen.

Of course Brian seemed completely unaware of what he was doing, just continued to shift and twist, releasing the tension in his joints as Dom’s vision tunneled to capture each movement. Brian continued on, “Just because you can move the person you’re dancing for, doesn’t mean you can move _with_ them. That’s the difference between center stage and half stage.”

“Naw, it’s that finesse doesn’t beat power outright and the same for the reverse. It’s more like a sixty-five, forty-five split and the one that wins just depends on the situation.” Finesse versus power was the perfect delineation between him and Brian. Brian, the dancer who had grace and maneuverability. Him, the battering ram that exploded through everything in his path.

“Yeah, but you know what I mean. You’ve seen the guys without finesse, probably beat them every time.” Brian said.

Dom thought about the long list of busters that had forked over cash to him, endless faces in a long line, and mentally tacked on a few of the dancers from the Fox Hole who’d moved with the abruptness of puppets dancing on tangled strings.

“Right. You’ve lost out to power,too, Mr. Finesse.”

Brian set his arms back behind him on the counter and hunkered down into a lazy sprawl. “Only lately, Dom. Otherwise, power doesn’t impress me much.”

Feeling like he was standing right in front of that final point, the catalyst for this verbal foreplay, Dom opted to side with instinct and just barrel straight for it. Quit stalling around getting the goods and just meet Brian at the root.

“Something about power impressed you, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” Brian’s look challenged that the feeling must’ve been mutual on Dom’s end.

Dom held up two fingers. “Two sources tell me I’m cute and hot. Plus, you like my car. So I don’t need to think that you’re impressed, I know you’re impressed and really like what you see.”

“Got me there, Mr. Perfect and Badass.”

“I’m not Mr. Perfect.” But he was hot shit where it mattered.

Brian was the obvious Mr. Perfect with the All-American boy looks and easy charm that snatched your attention. But it was his eyes that triggered that indistinct place inside that was responsible for satiety. He’d felt off-kilter since Brian had squared him up in his sights and forced his thoughts down a rabbit hole of trying to figure out just what color Brian’s eyes were.

Like right now, logic said Dom shouldn’t be trying to figure out how to get closer to Brian. “I’m gonna cook for you.”

“Ok. How are you gonna surprise me then?”

Dom went back to the fridge. “What do you want?”

“Tuna on white. No crusts.”

At first Dom thought Brian was fucking with him, then he looked at Brian whose face was all seriousness without a hint of cracking into a smile. Absolutely no bullshit in his expression.

“No.” Dom shook his head. “I offer to cook and you say tuna. That’s either a test or you’ve got really bad taste. Which is it?”

When Brian answered steady and eerily calm, “My mom used to make ‘em.” Dom could actually hear the whistle of the anvil falling towards his head. Of course Brian’s mom had and the emphasis on the past tense Dom picked up another clue. He was an expert in the chapter and verse of _my mom used to_. He didn’t like picking over scabbed wounds either, so reversing was his only way to get through this moment and back on track.

“How about a compromise: I make you a sandwich that’s not tuna.” He said a quick Hail Mary and would pray for Mia’s forgiveness later. “Plus, I like you too much to subject you to Mia’s tuna salad. Girl’s a genius at chemistry but could kill you in the kitchen.” He’d say an extra Hail Mary in hopes that Brian would never repeat what he’d just said.

“Surprise me. Show me what you’ve got.”

Dom walked backwards to the fridge again. So familiar with the kitchen that there was no danger to disturbing the set-up. “Any allergies.”

“None.”

“Cool, hit the radio over there and I’ll get started.” Dom instructed, pointing out the new tech that Mia insisted they have, especially on slow days. This far north of midnight the airplay favored slow melodic beats that favored sleep and possibly other things that wouldn’t be too far from a bed.

He had two solid ideas for now. The first being a sandwich that was definitely not tuna but far better and the other was a standout that was what the market had been known for in its prime. He’d rotated back and forth between the garage and the market as kid until he was as proficient in tuning an engine as working a prep line.

He found the ingredients for the sandwich quick and orderly. The second thing was already parceled out into small ceramic cups inside a huge steel pan. The new kid they hired over the summer was working out well by the looks of the kitchen. Dom had been a little wary of Mia’s former classmate, Han, who’d seemed capable of eating the profits right out from under them. The kid was saving up for a car which Dom could understand, but the way he looked at Dom at times—like he could see just what Dom was doing between the business hours of the market and the garage—had Dom keeping a close eye on the kid right back.

The grill sizzled as the butter saturated the sweet roll and the cheese melted over the ham and pork. He grabbed one of the small ceramic dishes from the shelf in the fridge and pointed Brian in the direction of the spoons after he set it on the counter.

One quick flip, plate, and slice later, he presented Brian with his offering. “Una medianoche.”

“A midnighter? Sounds on point. Thanks.” Brian took half and pushed the plate over to Dom. “If I’m eating, you’re eating, too.”

Dom accepted the plate. In exchange, he pushed the flan closer to Brian, only now noticing that there were two spoons laid out. He liked Brian’s apparent willingness to share. He watched Brian take down the sandwich in a reasonable number of bites.

Dom pushed the flan closer, saying, “It’s sweet,” as his only warning.

“I can do sweet,” Brian took a bite. “Okay, that’s _really_ sweet.”

The plate eventually migrated closer to Dom as Brian exercised caution with handling the overload of caramel and sugar. The sharing was different than what Dom had done with Letty and other girlfriends. With Letty, there’s a constant push-pull in their dynamic where she’d just take his stuff and push him until he snapped back like rubber band—short and quick or recoiled into the opposite way. That was when he fucked up, when he cheated.

Maybe it was because Brian had at least three brothers that demanded his attention which made him capable of sharing. For some people, sharing meant survival; maybe he’d find out what it meant to Brian one day.

With a couple of bites left, Brian started talking again. “Do you bring all your dates here? Give them a private show by cooking for them or am I just the lucky one?” Brian licked the spoon with the handle down in his hand, completely focused on Dom, gaze so straight it left no room for Dom to lie. So penetrating that if he did decide to lie, Brian would catch him as soon as he formed the thought. Brian licked the curve of the spoon again. “Or maybe I should say lucky boy.”

Brian was the first in several columns in Dom’s dating history. He was the first to make Dom put in so much effort. The first to give Dom such a rush of excitement. The first guy obviously that had ever, and probably would ever, turn Dom’s head.

Dom swallowed his last taste of flan and placed the spoon aside. He’d leave the fellating of the silverware to Brian. “You are the lucky boy.” There were many things that he liked about Brian so far, but now was not the time to shotgun them out into the open. Just picking one thing was easy. “I like the way you dance.” If the old radio of the counter helped him make his choice, then, yeah he’d stick by it.

The [song from the performance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xe_iCkFsQKE) poured through the old speakers soft and pulsing until Dom turned the knob to make it more audible. It was the type of song that dropped voices into whispers and made standing beside someone inappropriate, so Dom moved in front of Brian, standing with his boots bracketing Brian’s Converses and his arms positioned outside of Brian’s on the counter.

Like this, it was more apparent that Brian had a good inch to an inch and half on him. It should’ve bothered him that the closer he got, the more hardness he’d find against him: Brian’s dick, the tension in his muscles, the flatness of his chest.

Brian was the right combination of everything Dom shouldn’t want. But just looking at Brian made the world slow down, leaving him as the sole focus of his view. Standing out as the only marker in the distance that mattered. Brian was fearless in the way he moved, the way he drove, the way he dared Dom to push back and stick with him.

There were rules about this in prison that carried over to the streets. There were rules about how he could approach this situation; though truthfully, those same rules stressed _avoid, avoid, avoid_. But Brian still smelled good, like fresh soap and he had his fingers wrapped up in Dom’s cross, using it to tow him inside Brian’s space. Control like this wasn’t given easily. Anyone else would’ve faced the indomitable wall of Dom’s resistance. But Brian? Brian left Dom so fucking wanting, like fire burning in his veins raw and crackling; Dom needed Brian’s rolling cool to temper it, lest it blow him apart.

“You know what they say about guys with big crosses?” Brian said almost whisper-like below the music.

Dom hovered just outside the boundary of his mouth. Eyes keyed in on how pink his lips were. The smell of sugar stimulating his mouth to get wet. “What?” Dom breath’s rolled over Brian’s lip and he sucked it to take the bite.

The radio continued snapping out the commanding beat. “Big faith.” Brian answered.

Yeah, Dom had a wealth of that. He leaned up, rocking forward on his heels until he connected with Brian’s mouth, kissing him to the cadence of the music. Sugar and caramel burning across his tongue as he sucked on Brian’s lips and stroked over his tongue.

Brian met him stroke for stroke in a slow rhythm of _press, suck, taste, repeat_ until Dom decided he needed more leverage and deepened his stance by stepping between Brian’s feet, prying them open with less finesse than Sir on-stage. But he made up for the bump by placing his hands over Brian’s neck and up into his hair, still damp to his touch, and kept Brian centered where he needed him most.

Brian touched back, sliding his arms up Dom’s flanks to bury his hands in the bunching mountains of Dom’s traps and rhomboids. Fingers curling and extending with each nip and suck that Dom delivered to his mouth. Dom’s muscles worked like living concrete, hard to the touch and without the compromise of give but Brian held on.

Dom pulled back to work downward across the hard, smooth line of Brian’s jaw until he reached the junction of his neck and mandible and let his lips crest on the thundering rise of Brian’s pulse beneath his lips.

There was living and there was being alive. Brian’s blood singing for him, hands working over Dom like he was the last damn post for all that was blanked out the rest of the world, leaving just them, the hypnotic drive of the song, and the irrepressible fact that Dominic Toretto was flipping inside and out, being remade by Brian O’ Conner.

If Brian made these stuttering gasps as Dom worked that crucial spot on his neck…

If Dom let that burning drive goad him to fully press against Brian, grinding their hips together…

If power met finesse and gave off sparks…

If the song climaxed to a crashing resolution and Dom finally stopped worrying and just bit down, making Brian inhale over the dying chords of the melody, surging his hips into Dom’s, confronting the reality of dick to dick.

Then what came next, they would’ve earned.

Brian’s phone chimed, a sound that reverbed like shattering glass inside this contained series of moments. One that stopped Dom’s progress like a cement wall.

Brian dropped his head on the swell of Dom’s shoulder without fully drawing back. He fished for his phone, still gasping from what Dom had been doing to him. He took a solid string of normalizing breaths as he read the message.

“It’s my sister,” he said.

Their time once again paused for a forthcoming later.

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes later, the market was locked up and clean---Brian stepping up again saying, “The cook doesn’t clean,” before they could head out for Dom to drive Brian back to Watts.

The previous activity in the market replaying on loop in their heads kept the quiet between them from being heavy. Things just remained incomplete.

Dom’s curiosity grew as they drove, because the new count had Brian at plus or minus four brothers and one sister. Which by current standards was a big family.

They got off the 105 and headed north on Wilmington Avenue. “So how did you end up over here?” Knowing that Brian stood out more than usual in this neighborhood.

Brian turned away from the early morning traffic. “Rome’s grandmother got us out here about six years ago and this is where we’ve been since.” His tone was again frank and honest. There was a desire to know where Brian was before that but Dom pushed it away until another time.

“What about your living situation? You’ve got a big entourage.”

Dom followed Brian’s indication to turn right at the next block. “I don’t have an entourage. I have a family and a team. We share a house.” The house at 1327 was the only home most of them knew.

He drove for three more blocks until the headlights flashed over Rome’s big red fishtails then Dom pulled into the tight spot behind him. One that was undoubtedly more comfortable for the GT-R than the Charger.

The block had the same feel as Dom’s, that pervasive tension of being working class and perpetually tired. Despite the cover of dark, the house’s white paint appeared old but sturdy. It had the look of one of those post-war houses that appeared small from head-on but proved to be stupidly deep once on the other side. Inside the gate, a narrow walkway led up to a low set of steps and the front door.

“You share your house with your sister, your two best friends, your best friend’s cousin and your ex-girlfriend.” Brian pointed out, though without adding commentary like Leon on the last bit.

Dom wouldn’t defend his living situation because, frankly, there was no reason to be on the defensive. “Sometimes you get so used to living with people that you can’t go without.” Brian understood that since he was living ass to elbow with his siblings.

It should be weird that Dom just liked looking at Brian. Somehow finding him interesting from every angle. Again, the list of a million reasons why not hummed in the background noise inside his head but just focusing on Brian, who cut his eyes to watch him back, put everything else of mute.

So if Dom reached over to take Brian’s chin and start in on his lips again, then that was just what was meant to happen. They were slowly working up to before when Brian pushed his hand away, instead going for Dom’s shirt to bring them together.

The silence within the car made the _tap-tap-tap_ on Brian’s window so much louder. Of course it would be Rome standing at the window, a wide Crest white grin plastered on his face, knocking on the glass like he wasn’t an interrupting ass.

Brian flopped his head back against the seat and exhaled raggedly. Having a brother like Rome had to be fun yet exhausting which was completely supported by Rome’s insistence that Brian roll down the window.

“I don’t think he’s going away if you ignore him.” Dom said. Rome looked surprisingly awake for such a late hour, especially after an energetic shift.

Brian rotated his focus back to Dom. “Trust me, I know.” Then, he grabbed the handle and vigorously rolled down the window.

Not even halfway down, Rome had already started in. “Well, hello. Hi. What’s up? How ya doin’? Havin’ a nice night?” He grinned overly bright.

“Rome.” Brian said his name as a single warning sound. As if he would go feral and leap out the window at his brother. “I’ll be inside in a minute, cuz.” Everything to be read into that statement was laid out as clearly as grass on a field and just as apparently, Rome stepped around it.

Rome being Rome disregarded the warning. “Y’ know, Bri, when you said we should join the Neighborhood Watch, I didn’t think you meant that you wanted the hood to watch you getting’ it in.” Dom had to grab Brian really quickly to keep him from actually jumping out the car. Rome was undeterred from continuing his little spiel though; just stepped back from the window but remained close enough to be heard.

He pointed at the house next door which was still dark like most on the block. “We both know that Mrs. Hobbs is a light sleeper. But I bet you breakfast, lunch, and dinner that’s she’s callin’ the cops and her priest right now to report that you’re out here gettin’ your soul sucked and stolen out ya mouth.”

Yeah, Dom had to find somewhere else to look after that one. The snort he hid in his fist was bad, laughing until he cried would be worse.

Brian said, “I can’t stand you sometimes.” But his words lacked real bite. Just the utterance of a stock phrase used by siblings pushed to the edge of their patience.

“And I don’t like playin’ chaperone, Cinderella. You and Sir-Swole-A lot,” he flexed his muscles to mimic Dom which wasn’t as funny, “—can see each other later. In sunlight. Or wherever.”

“Dom--”

“Yeah, go. We’ll see each other later.” Dom wasn’t in the least intimidated by Rome, but good taste said not to go macking on the dude’s brother in front of him. Especially after his recent performance. “We barbecue on Sundays,” Dom said once Brian had gotten out and closed the door.

Brian appeared to have reservations about the invitation, but Rome inserted himself in the window and accepted. “We’ll see you then. Hit ‘em up with the deets and we’ll show for the treats. Night!” Rome waved him away after looping his arm through Brian’s and all but frog marching him through the gate and up the walk to the door.

Brian waved him on, still grinning just for Dom, lips sucked in and sweet.

Dom put the car in drive.

His phone pinged twice in rapid succession. He looked at the messages and found a slow smile spreading due to both.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35821312825/in/dateposted-public/) [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35432711980/in/dateposted-public/)

The Charger rumbled as Dom drove. He turned the volume up and began to laugh as the radio congratulated him for finally earning it.

 


	6. 6 (waiting game)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dom is the center of several conversations the day Brian brings his family over for barbecue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.  
> Title from The Glitch Mob's [Between Two Points](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iaisDkR8Qg).  
> A/N 1: Songs of significance in this chapter:  
> [Banks, "Waiting Game"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IaI5JCxOCdw)  
> [Justin Timberlake, "Mirrors"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uuZE_IRwLNI)
> 
> A/N 2: This chapter started off happy and swerved hard into angst and hurt/comfort. Major warning for Dom’s feelings. There are so many feelings in this chapter. Everyone’s got feelings. You don’t get to be in this family without a lot of feelings. 
> 
> A/N 3: Some parts were obviously cobbled together from the movies like Rome's grace and Dom talking about his dad's death. Take caution in that part, his emotion is palpable. 
> 
> A/N 4: Vince is a loyal asshole. He'd do anything for Dom since he's his pseudo-brother and best friend. Just don't ask Vince to play too nicely with Brian. Beware of the nicknames.
> 
> As always, concrit is appreciated and enjoy!

Dom realized not long after he first met Jesse that talking to him was like putting a puzzle together. The kid always started a conversation in one place—much like a corner of a puzzle—then dropped the pieces of conversation as soon as his attention was shifted by something shiny, then he’d start somewhere else with just a handful of words but was already hard at work creating a complete picture from another angle that the other person just couldn’t see.

“I’m just sayin’, Dom, that..t-that…t-that the J-Jetta can do it.”

“Alright, Jess. I believe you. I know you’ll be ready for Race Wars. It’s just that we’ve gotta find the right competition for you.”

Dom had known Jesse since he was eleven or twelve. In that time, he’d grown familiar with all of Jesse’s tics. The kid might have been consistently thinking at hundred miles an hour but his words became a jumbled wreck at the first hints of nervousness. Why he’d be nervous about talking to Dom after all this time set Dom on edge.

He patted Jesse’s shoulder and surrendered the long grilling fork to Jesse as a show of trust. Not many people got to mess with Dom’s grill, even fewer got asked to take over for him.

“Jess, you’ve put a shit-ton of work into the Jetta. It’s a little monster just like you,” he teased with absolute honesty. The kid didn’t look like much on first sight, not like the obvious blockade of meat and tough that was presented in Dom, Vince, and Leon, but Jess was all heart and all brain. Most of their success on the road was from Jesse putting his genius under their hoods.

Jesse held the barbecue fork with the rigid hold of a sword. “I just w-want..w-want,” he stopped and inhaled slowly and long, his face pink from the effort and embarrassment. “I just want. My old man. To get some extra. Cash. And be proud.”

Dom hid his grimace internally; Jesse’s past with his dad was as spotted as the garage’s floor and not nearly as neat. The guy was a long-term resident of the State of California, not for being a shitty dad, but for being the worst kind of thieving junkie. Leon, especially, was firmly on the side of Jesse not doing shit for his old man. Period. But Jesse was a good kid, a freaking genius with a crazy amount of heart that always tried to do bigger and better things as experiments and otherwise.

So Dom would give him what he needed. “If you wanna race, Jess, we’ll make sure you race. No explanations needed.” Seeing the kid’s relieved face was too much. Dom gave him a companionable shoulder bump and signaled for the house. “Be back in a sec.”

Dom climbed the short series of stairs to enter the kitchen. Mia stood at the counter putting together a salad in a container so large, it could’ve been considered a trough.

She spoke to him over her shoulder, “Are you sure we need this much?”

Dom opened the fridge for a beer. “No. Maybe. I’d rather be over-prepared than under.”

Mia made a considering sound. “Well, if we’re truly over-prepared then we’ll be eating this stuff for about two weeks unless I take this stuff to the market and make this week’s special Barbacoa Bonzana.”

He left the promotional ideas to Mia since she was the smart one. “My math is still fuzzy on how many of his brothers,” Mia made an adoring sound like _ah_ , “and possible sister may come with Brian. I’ve heard stories about Rome though,” Dom pointed at the tray with his bottle clutched in hand, “and I’m thinking we have to prepare like we’re feeding two Vinces and everyone else.”

Now Mia did look at him, giving him a look so reminiscent of their Mami that he took a purposeful drink to suffer the cool rather than _that_ look. “You’re telling me that we need to feed possibly four Vinces? Dominic—what? How is that possible?”

Vince was his brother from another mother, but that didn’t preclude them from using his appetite as a standard of measurement. One Vince was just Vince. Two Vinces was Vince plus three regular people. Three Vinces was Vince and probably the rest of the team. Four Vinces was like a theoretical perfect storm of hunger; one never witnessed before but speculated to be a monster catastrophe.

Mia returned to her new mission impossible. “I call dibs on the twins. That’s all I’m sayin’. They’re so cute and they’ve got that baby smell…”

Dom would leave the handling of the twins to the experts. He had maximum faith in the sureness of his hands but handling a human being that weighed as much as a sack of flour left him wanting to take a long step back. Like a bull reversing at the sight of a china shop.

“You have all the fun doing that.”

“I will. My buddies Twink and Tank and I are gonna have fun, even if Jesse and I have to share. Good thing, there’s two of them.” The smile clear in her voice. “Oh, yeah, did you ask Brian about those names?”

Mia wasn’t the first to ask about the twins’ unique names but his answer was still the same. “No, he just said they were family names.”

Which had Mia going “Ah,” again and letting it go.

He dropped a kiss into her hair just because he could and left the kitchen to go upstairs.

Standing in the center of his room, he read the last exchange with Brian.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35432711800/in/dateposted-public/)

The front door opened and with it came the sounds of Vince and Letty pseudo-arguing about something.

Vince yelled out, “Yo, ice is here!”

From the kitchen, Mia called back just as loud, “Still not a zoo, Vince.” Upstairs, Dom smiled to himself. The day was setting itself up to be a good one.

He grabbed one of the blue logo shirts from the garage and threw it on without bothering to button it. He checked the time on his phone again and saw that they were easily about twenty minutes from sitting down around the old backyard table.

Dom went downstairs again, no rushing as he went, and headed back towards the kitchen but slowed down when he heard Letty’s voice.

“I’m not sayin’ something’s wrong. I’m just sayin’ that he’s acting differently.” Letty said.

“Well, different doesn’t necessarily mean anything is wrong. Dom’s fine.” Mia’s voice wasn’t as close as Letty’s who was probably waiting in her favorite spot which was the edge of the counter by the door where she liked to sit.

“So you say.” And there was the usual low swell of sarcasm in Letty’s voice. “We both know he’s been different since he came back--”

Mia made an agreeing sound.

“—he’s been, like, stuck in his head. He’s talks. We know that. We hear him.” Letty had always been the first to call him on his bullshit.

He knew how things had been going before the last couple of weeks and had just let her probing slide or needle him into anger and yelling back which was the usual. It hadn’t occurred to him that anyone had noticed a difference. “Just the same noise that most guys make. He ain’t sayin’ anything we don’t already know. But lately, there ain’t that cloud of bullshit around. When he talks, he really talks.”

He heard Mia move and pictured her leaving the counter opposite from Letty to stand beside her. To be close to her and offer support. Letty always said she didn’t do chick flicks but she was still human like anyone else, and comfort was a necessity that no man or woman, hard as nails or soft as a feather, could live without.

“And?” Mia heard the missing spaces in Letty’s analysis. “What else?”

A rhythmic rap of her knuckles on the counter stemmed the flow of conversation. An old habit that she only pulled out when she was thinking hard or was too deep in her feelings to get the words out. “I thought maybe it was me. That I pushed him too hard to get back together and that’s why he seemed so far away even when he’s standing right beside me.”

Of course Mia would hug her, make her arms into a net to go around Letty’s shoulders and embrace her until Letty finally had enough and pulled away. “It’s not you. Wherever Dom’s head has been, you aren’t the cause of him changing.” She laughed half-heartedly. “There have been so many reasons to change or feel like the world is trying to turn you inside out but it’s not you at the center. You’re a constant, Letty. Like waking up in the morning and looking at the sky and seeing that the sun is still shining kinda constant.”

“I realized breaking up wasn’t the wrong call when it didn’t hurt. I think it hurt more to fight and be so fucking angry with him that I wanted to shake him or throw something at his stupid face.”

There’s a small shuffle of bodies, possibly Mia pushing Letty gently for messing with him. His sister’s always got his back. “That stupid face is my brother’s, so I have to take up for him. But,” she paused sharply, “never think you’re alone in wanting to throw something at him. Every time I talk about school, I see the way his eyes glaze over and I just--” she grumbled and Letty snapped out a laugh, “want to throw one of my textbooks at him. But he’d probably catch it if I tried, so there’s that and I’d still be pissed.”

They laughed together the way people should on a Sunday afternoon before eating too much food with family and friends. Dom remained on the other side of the wall listening, somewhat smiling, thinking he might let them get one or two good shots in if they’re really called for.

“C’mon, don’t eat that.” Mia scolded Letty. There was crinkling, followed by the hiss of a snack bag of junk food ripping open and the telltale _crunch-crunch_ of a large handful taken to the mouth. “That stuff’s gross. How you and Vince can eat that stuff all the time is a mystery.”

More crunching. “Mia, I love you like a sister, but never tell anyone that Cool Ranch is gross. Bad things will happen.”

“I’ll take that risk.” Mia sassed.

Letty continued eating away until the bag crumpled again, leaving the kitchen relatively quiet. “What’s up with Dom’s new stray though? Blondie?”

“Brian?”

Letty hummed yes.

“Dom likes him.” Dom felt his heart ratchet into a full gallop. His sister knew him better than anyone. Could she know the way he actually liked Brian? She and Letty had seen through him before, they might be reading him like a book now. “I think Dom saw something in him the other night before the shit with the cops went down.” Dom had definitely seen something in him alright. “But now, he actually likes him and Brian seems like good people and his family is interesting. So from now on, we’ve gotta get used to him. He’s caught up just like the rest of us, too.”

Letty had always been the harder sell. Always had her eye turned by substance rather than appearance. Which explained how she could walk through a crowd at a race and blow past a hundred guys ready to be her slaves and just keep walking. “He seems alright but I’ll reserve judgement until I actually see him drive. Then I’ll decide whether he gets open arms or a dick punch.”

Mia snickered from farther away. “Let, you’re not giving the guy many options. I’m pretty sure you do those to the three amigos just to show your love anyway.”

“It’s a rite of passage,” Letty countered. “But I’ve got a question for you.”

“Okay, but don’t be gross. I’m actually hungry and wanna eat.”

“Sure, sure. Even I’ve gotta admit that Brian’s cute. I’d hit that if I thought he could take it. So you gonna step up to that or what?”

No matter how Mia answered Dom would feel like an asshole. He’d killed Mia’s interest at the roots and circled back to salt its earth just to keep Brian off her radar. The louder voice in his head that spoke from the authority of a protective big brother guaranteed that she would find a nice boy, probably some genius kid from school, who’d be awed by her and want to sweep her off her feet like a fairy tale. The smaller but more persistent voice that was into Brian said that Brian had too much shit going on for that prince too be him and took comfort in the fact.

When Mia answered, it was a resolute “No.”

“Please. Please don’t tell me you’re letting Vince keep you away?” There was so much exasperation in that question that Letty’s arched brow could be weaponized if Mia said yes. Talk about needing to hide from a dick punch.

There was a small huff then an explosion of Mia’s laughter. “God, no. Vince, no. We’re not going there with Vince. Dom told me that Brian’s got someone and that it was complicated, so that’s a no. But,” her tone became hopeful and conspiratorial, “I can _look_ at him, especially when he comes to the garage and definitely when he brings his brothers. I can look all I want as long as I don’t touch.”

Letty liked the twins, too. “They’re crazy adorable.” Her boots settled on the floor. “I’m glad there’s no movement on the Vince front. I wouldn’t want us to _talk_ about that.” Letty’s talks were legendary for consisting mostly of long stare downs that were so uncomfortable that you’d change your ways just to avoid another one. “Well, I hope things get uncomplicated with Blondie. He looks… _fun_. And maybe like he doesn’t chase after skanks, unlike someone else I know.”

Yeah, so Dom backed away slowly from the wall. Only Letty was capable of delivering a one-two insult without blinking. If only she knew that she’d just called Dom a skank and called him out for chasing skanks, he’d never live it down.

“Be nice, Let.”

The backdoor opened in a wide swing, Leon’s familiar tread hopping up the steps to enter the kitchen. “We eating today or what?”

“If you help us take some of the food outside, then we’ll eat soon, yeah.” Mia said, probably handing Leon the large bowl she’d been handling earlier.

“This is a lot of food. We feeding the block and no one told me?” Leon said as he opened the door again.

Letty took her turn getting stuff from Mia. “No, we’re just feeding Vince so he doesn’t turn into Godzilla.” Letty replied. “Now let’s go.” Probably forcing Leon down the steps again and into the yard.

“I’ll get Dom.” Mia called from the backdoor and Dom moved silently towards the stairs and stopped midway up to turn around and pretend to come back down. “I was just coming to get you.” She said from the dining room.

“Yeah, I’m here.” He pulled on the ends of her long black hair like he used to do when she wore pigtails and earned a swat to the chest. “Let’s eat before the natives get restless.”

“We’re not waiting for Brian?” As if the magic words had been spoken, Jesse yelling out to Brian answered Mia’s question.

Dom passed through the backdoor with Mia ahead of him. Brian walked up the driveway with Rome following him, each with a car seat carrying a twin in hand, plus a series of faces that Dom didn’t know trailing after the two.

Vince rose from the bench, coming over to stand with Dom and Mia, without taking his eye off the procession of Brian’s siblings. “It looks like we’re being invaded.” He said in all seriousness.

Dom could practically feel Mia’s eye roll. “Vince.” So much admonishment in her voice that Vince held his hands up in surrender.

Despite relenting, he countered by saying, “What? Don’t be like that. You know you were thinking it, too.”

Dom decided to intercept Brian rather than fall down the rabbit hole of Vince’s logic. He’d pulled out a second table to extend the length of the old one just as a precaution. Counting Brian’s squad now proved his precaution to be practical.

As soon as he and Brian were face to face, Brian said, “No take backs.”

“I wasn’t planning on it. But I think we need name tags since Sunday barbecue has turned into a convention.”

Not to be left out, Rome stepped up and nodded towards the three following behind him, “Naw, no name tags needed. Just know that we always roll deep. Now we eatin’ or not?”

Dom welcomed them to the tables. “Mi casa es su casa. C’mon and have a seat.”

Brian waited for his brothers and sisters to pass him and get seated before taking the corner spot to Dom’s right. A good spot for him. “So guys,” he addressed his siblings, “this is Dom, his sister, Mia and that’s Leon, Letty, Jesse, and Vince.” The latter introduced as if they were old friends instead of borderline enemies.

Then he pointed to his side of the table again. “Okay, yeah, these are my brothers and sisters.” Which he said as a concrete declaration, capable of being explored but absolutely not questioned. “This is Rome, that’s Tej,” who was about Mia’s age and a complexion between Brian and Rome, “Suki,” the only other blonde in the group who was probably also Asian and definitely in high school, “Giselle,” damn near as tall as Dom and somewhere between high school or middle school, “and the best of the bunch, Twink and Tank.”

The spread was much of the usual, just multiplied by three to cover the number of bodies around the table. The platter in the center had grilled criollo chicken, another one of those things that Dom had learned from his dad. The orbiting bowls and pans were full of moros and rice, platanos fritos, and four exclusively veggie dishes that had seemed excessive before but now seemed perfectly acceptable with the number of guests around the table that were under twenty.

Rome dropped a stack of platanos on his plate and did the same for Brian, except he snatched back one fat slice from Brian’s plate and popped it in his mouth.

Jesse pointed two sets of fingers at Rome, so excited to be ratting someone out. “See, it wasn’t me this time! Someone else gets really hungry after seeing all this food.”

Dom folded his hands for prayer and turned to Rome, whose mouth made a small open ‘o’ now that he was under scrutiny. “You ate first, so you say grace, Rome.”

Brian was saved from giving Rome the _I can’t take you anywhere_ look because Rome had it heaped on him from three sets of eyes sitting downwind of him. The twins might have made fussy sounds to side with their other brothers and sisters, too.

So used to being the center of attention, Rome slipped into the role of grace leader quickly after deflecting his siblings’ glares. “Alright, I’ll say the grace. I don’t know how y’all roll with the religion thing but seeing Big D’s blinged out Jesus, I’m thinking we’re on the same page, so let’s do this. Thank you God for family, friends, good food, fast cars, and for paper plates and aluminum foil. Amen.”

There was a significant amount of throat clearing as amen was uttered around the table. Everyone trying to have a modicum of respect but finding it hard not be amused by Rome’s heavenly shout-out.

The food was passed around the table with everyone making sounds of appreciation for the big spread. The O’Conner siblings helped each other out as the plate making started, with Rome making one for Brian while Tej did the same for Suki since Brian had Tank in his lap while Suki had Twink on hers.

Leon took a bite of the moros and rice and made a series of approving hand gestures to express his satisfaction then he gestured at Brian. “So Brian, I gotta ask and I’m not trying to be rude but you’ve got the most interesting group of brothers and sisters I’ve ever seen. I’m just--” Leon took a quick sweep around the table, “I think we’re all curious, man, about how y’all came to be family.”

Brian held Tank in the crook of his left arm and fed him with a small bottle with his right. Dom could see him gearing up to drop his favorite word, _complicated_. But Tej, the middle brother fielded the question instead, saving them all from the broad sweep of his vague non-answer answer.

“Naw, it’s cool. We know how it looks when we show up places. Like we’re the second coming of the United Colors of Benneton or whatever.” He pointed back at Brian. “Since he’s the oldest, he’s like the point of reference for all of us. So here we go,” starting with Brian, “oldest, then step,” he pointed at Rome, then himself, “half,” at Suki, “half,” at Giselle, “step, and the twins are half.”

Leon looked impressed. “You guys look like you could be your own sport’s team or play Family Feud or something.”

Rome obviously supported this idea. “See, I told you. They say there’s strength in numbers. We got those. We could totally kick ass on Family Feud.”

Tej shook his head. “Bruh, you’ve gotta know something before you can get on the show. So I don’t think you’re qualified.”

Vince rattled out a low chuckle. “I like this kid.”

Rome gave Vince a pearly shark grin. “You say that now but let Flat-top Urkel do one of his crazy ass experiments on your car and you’ll reconsider.”

The first sister moved to cover Twink’s ears. “Swear to God, Rome, if either of their first words is some combo of ‘ass’ or ‘damn’, I will kick you straight in the head.” Suki promised with one look.

Vince snickered loud, finding himself being thoroughly entertained by their guests. “You’ll be kicking a long time, little girl.” Suki turned her glare on him and backed up by Giselle’s, Vince backed down and stuffed his mouth with chicken.

Brian did a slight bodily shift to prevent Tank’s wandering hands from dropping into the scoop of black beans on his plate. “We’ve all got D.O.C. to thank for bringing us together.” D.O.C. was mumbled down the line by Brian’s brothers and sisters.

Letty looked at them over the top of her shades. “D.O.C. like the Department of Corrections?” Which would explain possibly a fraction of Brian’s familial situation.

Suki stepped up to answer. “No, D.O.C. is just what we call our dad—D.O.C. short for Daddy O’Conner. The gift that just keeps giving.” The weight of a huge inside joke riding on her smile. “His most recent gifts were these two guys, our Twink and Tank.”

Mia and Jesse had the same look of adoration on their faces as they looked at the twins. Dom was counting on them to borrow the twins so that he and Brian could have a minute or two…to talk or whatever.

“Which one is which?” Jesse asked.

This time Dom pulled Brian’s plate farther from the table’s edge as he watched the kid plot and grasp for the beans first and possibly for the entire plate second. Dom couldn’t place the kid’s age but he was persistent in trying to get up close with Brian’s food.

Brian bounced the kid in his arms. “This is one is Tank and Suki’s got Twink.”

Despite the food, Vince’s surliness was piqued a notch above normal. Even for Dom, it felt strange to have Vince exiled to the opposite end of the table, though he was enjoying Brian being so close that their legs brushed frequently under the table.

Vince pointed between the two infants. “You can’t tell me that those names are on their birth certificates? At least, I hope they’re not.”

Rome gestured between the two twins. “Naw, just nicknames. Shane’s called Twink because the kid passes out if you turn out Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. Like a canary under a blanket or eating a Fiesta Pack from Del Taco, he’s just gone—totally knocked out. And Sean?” He circled a hand over the kid’s head and the kid—Sean teetered in Brian’s lap, trying to follow his motions. “Look at that head? That’s a true tank-head right there. We gotta get him a helmet when he starts walkin’ to keep him from denting the furniture when he’s taking those first steps.”

Brian rubbed down the stray wisps of dark hair on Sean’s head. “He’ll grow into it. Just wait.”

Rome chewed the final forkful from his plate and started making eyes toward Brian’s which Dom caught and deliberately redirected with a forceful look towards the substantial spread still remaining.

“Yeah, we hope so. Otherwise, the kid will stretch out the necks of his shirts and’ll look like he’s wearing a hula hoop around his shoulders.”

“You’re one to talk, Franken-Forehead.” Vince said, earning snickers from around the table.

“That’s just cold, man. Like ice. Cold.” Sarcasm so thick it dripped from Rome’s comeback.

Mia pulled her focus from the twins to the other O’Conner siblings and when her gaze landed on Tej, a pensive look crossed her face. “Do you go to USC by chance?”

“Yeah, I do. You too?”

She nodded. “I thought you looked familiar.”

“What’s your major?” Tej asked, taking Twink from Suki so she could eat.

“I’m doubling in biomedical engineering and computer science, and I’m thinking about applying to med school.”

“Shit, that’s heavy…ow,” Suki elbowed him in the side and gestured down at Shane, the twin formerly known as Twink. “I’m a strictly a computer science major, but you go ahead and be awesome and an overachiever.”

Dom agreed. “Yeah, go Mia Bella,” Which started a round of table thumping claps.

“I’ll just stay in my lane and work on my computers.” Tej said.

Feeling the pride that only a big brother could have, Rome wrapped Tej up in a sloppy half-hug that morphed into Rome just draping himself over his brother. “Don’t be modest, Tej. Kid’s the second coming of Urkel. Like a cool Urkel without the glasses. He’s gonna become a computer programmer and take Silicon Valley by storm. Move over Apple—Pineapple’s comin’ through. Then later, we’ll get the biopic called ‘From the Hood to Helicopters: The Tej Parker-O’Conner story and it will be amazing.”

Tej tried to shake off his brother, who had a slight size advantage over him. “Oh my god, why are you so embarrassing. Brian, why can’t we leave him at home or sell him to the circus?” Again, the table laughed.

Brian caught Dom looking at him and communicated in kind that this was the typical complication that Brian experienced on the daily.

“You know we can’t give him to the circus, cuz they’d just give him right back.” Brian answered.

Rome gave Brian a puppy-like expression of hurt for about five seconds before returning to messing with Tej. He flicked the back of Tej’s head. “I bet you wish you’d kept the ‘fro now.” He evaded Tej’s hands and flicked him a second time, now made final under the combined glares of Brian, Suki, and baby sister, Giselle, who could glare hard enough to make Dom want to back up.

Rome continued verbally messing with his younger brother. “Boy’s fro was so big, it made him look like a mini-Globetrotter.”

“He had a big fro and you have big forehead. I can clearly see how you’re brothers.” Vince speaking as the defender of the innocent to everyone’s surprise.

Seeing another way to give him and Brian more space, Dom turned to Jesse. “Hey Jess, you should show Tej some of your specs for the GT-R. I hear he likes to experiment under the hood, too.” That was a close as he would get to confessing the primary architect of the GT-R’s failure.

They finished eating sometime later and the good humor present from consuming too much kept everything light. Dom hadn’t needed to strategize further, the dynamics of the table sorted themselves out. Tej and Jesse were making moves towards the house while Suki listened to Mia talk about college.

Giselle and Letty had gotten into a silent staring contest that ended with Letty asking Giselle if she played PlayStation and Giselle responding, “We playing for money or no?” Her question got them moving up the steps quickly with Vince following and demanding to have the next game.

Leaving Rome and Leon as the only ones without a real place to be.

“Wanna head in and watch the show?” Leon asked Rome.

Rome gave Brian then Dom a cautious look. Meeting Dom’s eye, he made a decision after a couple of seconds. “Sure, y’all got aluminum foil in there?”

“Swear to God, Rome--” Brian started in.

“Yeah,” Leon said genuinely amused. “I’ll show you.”

“Alright then.”

Sean aka Tank snored against Brian’s shoulder, drooling into a short cloth slipped between him and Brian’s t-shirt. Dom got an idea.

“Do you want to put them down somewhere?”

“No, we don’t have to.” Brian said.

Brian still hadn’t eaten and who knew how long the window of just chilling out would last. Dom stood up from his spot. “Naw, I’ve got a good spot for them. Grab their stuff and I’ll get Twink.” He didn’t let Brian dissuade him.

That hesitation to handle little things took a backseat when he stepped up to Suki who had Twink stretched out across her lap, also very much asleep. “Hey, Suki, I can take Twink from you.” Before Suki answered, she looked around him to Brian who must’ve given her the okay, because she picked up Twink slow but proficiently without disturbing his infant snores and settled him against Dom’s shoulder.

Dom braced himself like he was setting up to handle a grenade without a pin. Slowed his breathing to not disturb the rapid rise-fall of the baby’s. There was no muscle memory for this one. Mia had been a baby forever ago and even then he’d been a kid, much closer to her size than now and not nearly as strong. Maybe the last time he’d been in this position was about ten or twelve years ago when they visited their tías in the DR and he had to hold a carousel of cousins; all done under the all-seeing eyes of his tías, primos, and more relatives than stars in the sky.

But as of now? It was okay so far. Not at all like a sack of flour. Just a slight turn of his head and there it was. Mia was right. There’s was nothing like the smell of baby. Holy shit.

So Dom could take the smugness on Brian’s face without wanting to retaliate, because everything about this moment was surprising to Dom.

Secure that he wouldn’t drop Brian’s brother, he said, “C’mon.”

They walked through the empty kitchen which had last seen Brian present for two conversations—one with Mia and one with Dom. The first floor was not nearly as packed as Brian’s last visit to the house, but it was certainly just as loud.

Spotting them first from his perch on the top of the sofa—which Dom swore to get after him for—was Vince who cut through the high tide of shit talking and side line commentary with a sharp whistle.

Vince stage-whispered. “Incoming!” Dropping the volume around the living room to a fraction above library quiet.

He thanked Vince with a nod. Dom was barely secure carrying the kid this far, add in ear-piercing screeching and yeah, figuring out how to hang with Brian would be the last thing on his mind. He felt the weight of at least three pairs of eyes on his back as he climbed the stairs with Brian following him. He didn’t bother turning around to identify the owners.

His room was the first door at the top of the stairs, formerly his parents’, but became his after Mia moved his stuff in before he got out. Leave it to his sister to make him grow up and give him a touch of respectability. The furniture in his room was sparse but dark and heavy, modernly cut to be sturdy and aesthetically aggressive. Just the essentials that represented Dom’s personality: the small pyramid of weights in the corner by the closet, the long mirrors on the closet doors, the big bed at the center of the room with the low black headboard, and the dark curtains over the big window overlooking the street.

The walls held an appropriate collection of art: eclectic hyper-colorized and graffiti scribed pieces with cars, dedicated to racing, and the strategically placed pictures of his family, the team, and events full of part-time friends and long gone acquaintances. The big map was the only thing from before that she hadn’t changed. Had just mounted it on corkboard and left his series of push pins in place, a small number indicating where he’d already been and a larger number highlighting where he was determined to go.

He let Brian enter ahead of him and closed the door behind him. The inscrutable inspection the room lasted a handful of quiet seconds until the muffled collective sound of “Oh!” floated up with Vince’s barking grumbling trailing after dropping the noise again.

Brian cast him a sideways look, a smile matching the dim light in the room directed squarely at Dom. “This your very subtle version of showing me the coming attractions?”

Maybe. Possibly. “It’s a good space,” Dom offered up, trying to resist the magnetic pull of Brian’s grin. “Just thought this would be a good spot for ‘em.”But seeing Brian in his room—his definitive space—didn’t occur without triggering a slow-burning reaction in him; the type that calculated one plus one and bed plus a door equaled fun.

Reading him completely, Brian went over to the bed, dropping the black backpack from before on the nearest corner. “Yeah, you’re right. But,” he opened the bag with one hand, pulling out a colorful rolled up bundle. A blanket. “—without the audience, I think it could be used for fun.”

“Absolutely.” Dom was always down for a good time. If he and Brian were on the same page of having good time, then the promised pay-off would be epic.

With one snap of his wrist, the bundle unfurled into a blanket with a colorful scene of smiling cars driving down winding streets with animated mountainsides.

“You’re starting them off early with cars.” Dom found himself supporting the choice.

“Gotta start early on the important things, Dom. Who else will be your back-up getaway drivers?” That trouble he’d wondered about the littlest O’Conner boys getting into didn’t seem so far off when an added set of ten years and a few spare were added. He imagined they’d be just as fearless as their big brother, only made more heart attack-inducing by being a two for one special.

Brian spread it out across the black comforter and placed Tank near the center on his back. He motioned for Dom to bring Twink over and do the same. Dom eased into it with the same precision as his first try at parallel parking.

Now Brian laughed at him. “A for effort but C for execution.”

Dom rolled his eyes. “Seriously, you prefer loud and screaming to slow and steady?” Then he realized what he’d just said.

Brian lifted a cocksure brow and gave him one of those lazy half-shrugs. “At other times, hell yeah. Now though? They’re down for the count. Only fireworks and a marching band are waking them up.”

Slinging sexual innuendo back and forth in the presence of sleeping infants felt like the height of inappropriate conduct. So Dom eased off, “We’ll talk about that later. Anything else?”

“Just get the pillows.” Brian grabbed his pillows and began to align them end to end around the border of the bed, boxing the twins in the middle. They finished the great wall of pillows around the twins quickly. Having a pair of infants in his bed shifted his worldview, making him see the potential dangers lurking almost everywhere in his spartan bedroom.

Dom asked, “Should we put something on the floor around the bed?” Having visions of Tank dropping head first over the side of his bed.

Brian chuckled dryly. “Not unless you’ve got monsters under there.” So, he did thump Brian in the shoulder for that smartass remark. “The pillow wall should be fine. They’re just turning over at this point, not really crawling or doing that dirty butt puppy scoot yet. Plus, if it’s cool, I’ll have G come up and check on them.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll ask Vince to spot check them, too, since he’s eyeing them like they’re his new partners in crime.” Next time he and Vince talked, he’d ask about Vince’s hidden talent of baby whispering.

Brian gave the twins a final look before following Dom out of the room and partially shutting the door behind them.

Coming down the stairs, he motioned to Giselle. “Check on them in a bit.” The youngest sister nodded back with the seriousness of a life pledge.

Dom pulled up beside Vince who was now setting up to play Rome on the center couch. “Can you check in on them, too?”

“Of course, man.” Then Rome pressed start and it was game on.

They took a reverse course through the house, only slowing down for Dom to snag two Coronas from the fridge and then they were back outside. Mia and Suki were still at the table, talking with the animated air of old friends while Jesse had Tej down the drive looking under the hood of the Jetta, making them as alone as could be expected.

“Where’s the Charger?” Brian asked.

Dom started walking to the garage, wondering if Brian was a little psychic. “Inside there.” Brian followed him into the humid air of the Beast’s den.

Brian did a slow stroll down the Charger’s gleaming chassis. “She only gets better every time I see her.” The comment reached the center of Dom’s pride.

“The sight of cars gets you hot, O’Conner?” Dom slotted himself up against the driver’s side door.

Brian stood back within the remaining free space of the garage, just surveying its full walls and tight corners and finally back at him. “Dom, I’m only human. You tell me looking at this car does nothing for you, then I’m getting you a priest. Because that’s not human.”

“She was my Pop’s.” Any doubt about talking about his dad with Brian, given the inglorious specs of his own faded fast as Brian settled in beside him, looking openly interested in hearing more. “He was a stock car driver. Like old school driving, straight muscle and nothing else, and went everywhere—Fontana, Chino, Stockton, and his favorite was out in Palmdale at the County track. Wherever he could do nine seconds he went and I went with him.”

He braced himself for when Brian asked him the inescapable question, the memory now felt like a glancing blow, no longer a direct thrust between his eyes and down into the center of his heart.

But Brian said, “He sounds like a good dad. A good guy.” Taking a smooth swallow of his beer.

“The best,” Dom responded without hesitation. He could leave that vein of conversation closed right now. But Mia and Letty’s earlier conversation came floating back about him being different, and then there was Brian, waiting with far too much patience and unobtrusive understanding for Dom to keep the turbulent words inside.

He started talking, slicing that vein open, and let everything inside bleed out. “It’s the shit you remember that gets you caught up most. My dad had been messing with me the whole day, telling me the day I could beat him, he’d retire. Just hang it up so I could start my own legacy. We’re under the hood, giving the Beast another check and he says something about turtles not getting tickets and I’m thinking ‘what the hell is he talking about’.” Dom rattled off a chuckle. “He could see that I was confused and then dropped his hand on my shoulder—squeezed it a little. His hands were always so big. Even as a grown man, to me his hands seemed huge. He looked at me and said, ‘When I come back, I’ll tell you the secret to winning.’”

Then Dom stopped. The replay of those fifteen seconds streamed through his head, slow and bright, and still devastating. Hearing the sound of metal colliding still made his skin crawl. It had only been a few months now that he could look at fire without mentally shuffling off somewhere else.

Brian shifted closer to him, just close enough to comfort without the friction of crowding him. Like he was pacing with Dom through this moment. “I’m guessing that you didn’t get his secret.” Dom nodded. “Well, maybe you didn’t need it. You’ve done fine without it.”

All true but Dom still wanted to know what his Pop would’ve sad. Even if it was a dumb joke—one of those jumbled sayings that he’d cobbled together from the hundreds of places he’d been, Dom still wanted to know and would treasure it.

“Yeah, well,” Dom started as if he would refute Brian’s observation but couldn’t. “He got his bumper tapped. No big deal usually. At two hundred miles an hour, a little tap is like a rocket in the back. The guy—Kenny Linder—got him with the corner of his nose and then my Pop was spinning out and hit the wall.” He paused again, his throat feeling thick and infinitely more humid than the garage. “The car was on fire and all I could think was about those stupid fucking turtles. Like what the hell is up with the turtles and there’s screaming, too. But that was me. Not my Pop.”

There was no rush to continue. Brian didn’t push him for more, didn’t try to peel back the layers on his memories, or take a slice of feelings from the worst experience of his life. No, they just sat there in the quiet until Dom’s words overcame the ebb and just flowed by their own accord.

“I saw Linder about a week later. The guy was sorry. Didn’t try to bullshit me. Just accepted what he’d done and said he was sorry. But it was too raw for me. Mia had been crying all week and shit, I wasn’t any better, so having Linder talk to me about being sorry was like him waving the red flag…Sometimes you get a thought and decide to follow it. That thought told me to beat his ass. Then I found a wrench and kept hitting him until I couldn’t lift my arm anymore.”

He owned up to what he did to Kenny Linder. Was even trying to make good as far as he was capable of doing. But did he regret what he’d done? Even after Lompoc, the answer was no. He just spilled everything to Brian and didn’t feel like shit. Felt empty like an untightened gasket, spilling steam and dropping the pressure that would have torn through his system.

Brian absorbed everything Dom had put out like a sponge, leaving nothing behind but quiet air inside the garage and the distant mumbling of the people they loved outside.

“The D.A. tried to get me on first degree agg assault but I lucked out on getting it dropped to a second degree charge.”

“Yeah, you did.” He gave Dom an unwavering stare. “We all do things that aren’t right or straight up, but when you do it for family that’s the difference. Makes it different. Doesn’t excuse what you’ve done. Just makes it understandable so no one can challenge you.” Brian was right. No one would dare call Dom out for being wrong. None of them had—not Vince, Leon, Letty, and not even Mia.

Dom’s feet were firmly planted on the warped and spotted concrete in the garage but that didn’t stop him from feeling rocked by the shift that had just occurred. Because Brian got _it_. Actually understood those raw edges that Dom sported and continued to snag and reopen. D.O.C, the gift that the O’Conner kids said kept on giving, honed Brian into this diamond-edged man by placing the pressure of six lives on top of his. So Brian got those hard choices and described it all as complicated like it was his sword and shield to defend and attack. Brian wouldn’t apologize for his history and didn’t expect Dom to do so either. Was proud that he wouldn’t.

Dom uttered, “Damn,” with no context and earned a questioning look from Brian. Dom thought better of trying to navigate through the minefield of Brian’s history. Instead he focused on the bruise on Brian’s neck. “I got you good.”

It was a sucker’s bet to not assume that Rome had given him shit over the last six days. Brian worried the spot that had gone from blue to green at its edges with his thumb. ”This time you did. I’ll get you back next time.” Brian promised. “Rome told me I should give you some garlic to see if you’re a vampire.”

Hadn’t he said the same thing to Leon last week? He and Rome sharing a similar sense of humor was another addition to his unexpected list.

Yeah, he could focus on that spot again; just use the memory of putting it on Brian’s neck to get drunk without needing the Corona in his hand to help. All those thoughts about getting Brian alone and here he was with the time and space without a clear direction.

Nonetheless being around Brian was so easy. He offered Dom no expectations, other than his respect, and accepted whatever Dom was offering. What he wanted right now was to be close. How? Not a fucking clue.

Brian bent down to set his bottle on the floor, on his way up brushing Dom’s wrist with his arm. So the contact formed a rough thought and once Brian was composed again in his loose sprawl, Dom made that thought into action.

He extended his pinkie and ring finger first, stretching them out until they contacted the back of Brian’s hand. Brian made a small motion, short of being startled, and looked down at the source for a few moments, processing the touch. Then he looked away and, with the turn, Dom felt his hand sliding but not away, just over.

Dom had only held his dad’s hand as a kid. Up through adulthood, there were endless high fives, quick offers of a hand up, but nothing like this with another guy. Brian’s hand felt _right_ in his: hot but not sweaty, solid with a complementary set of calluses different and smoother than his own, and incapable of being swallowed up by Dom’s. This was one of those things that would be constantly remembered because it was so rare, like snow in L.A. or real heartbreak.

As Dom continued to hold on, he cataloged his mark on Brian’s neck and his hand in Dom’s and considered how much more Brian would give him. Fully fed, he felt that clawing hunger as he looked at Brian, a driving force with hurricane power.

If Brian kissed him then, fisted his tank to lure him in without breaking up their hands, and kissed him like he was putting a period on the sentenced started the night in the market, then Dom let him. Didn’t think about the door to the garage being unlocked. Couldn’t give a shit that he hadn’t thought to lock it. Just soaked up the way Brian could solder the cracks inside him with exacting precision.

He had never wanted someone this much. Kissed back like he was waiting for the buzzer to go off and redefine the limits.

Dom pulled back reluctantly, though Brian continued his path south of his mouth to his chin and under. He drew back again, just to get Brian to shift his attention.

“Dom?” he muttered back at the corner of Dom’s lips.

“Just tell me something. Anything. I don’t care.” He wanted Brian’s voice, too.

Now Brian stopped and considered Dom’s question. “When I realized I could trust you with my car, I knew I could trust you with my kids.”

He would have to get used to having his momentum halted by Brian, who had this natural ability to knock him over without much wind up. So he took the lead again in kissing Brian, a total shift from before, much like where he found himself standing. Dom kissed Brian with slow, fleeting caresses bursting with thanks and lacking in promise of upward progression.

When the kissing slowed, the change was due to a natural change in pace. Brian’s lips were red and swollen enough to make Dom trace the surface to take up some of the heat. “A piece of advice, Bri: be more direct. Instead of telling me I’m biting off more than I can chew, just tell me or anyone else that you’ve got a pack or a hit squad coming with you.”

Brian flashed him a quick grin. “Where’s the fun in that, Dom? Gotta keep you on your toes to prevent boredom.” And he nipped the head of Dom’s thumb for emphasis.

There was no boredom with Brian. He couldn’t even imagine it, though Dom could imagine trouble. Whether it was five seconds from now or five million years, being with Brian O’Conner would be the catalyst for every trouble in Dom’s life.

* * *

When they left the garage, the back yard was empty. The door to the kitchen was propped open. A mixture of voices spilled out with Mia, Suki, and Jesse’s being the loudest.

Mia said, “Take these,” to someone in the kitchen. The table was half-cleaned off, most of the food had been finished off while they ate but what remained still sat on the tabletop. Dom and Brian moved around the table collecting the bowls and trays lingering, with Dom pointing out which ones were worth saving and which could go into the garbage bags that Mia and Suki were now bringing out.

“Thanks, guys.” Mia said as they walked over.

Suki made an immediate switch with Brian, taking the bowls in hand leaving him with the bags. She uttered something low enough for only him to hear which earned a sheepish look from Brian and familial push back to the kitchen.

Brian called to Suki, “Get the water going and I’ll be up in a sec.”

She stopped on the top step and made a show of bowing. “Oh, yes, Prince of Dishes, I live to do your bidding.” Then tossed him a smirk and walked into the kitchen.

Dom dropped a couple of plates into his garbage bag. “So Prince of Dishes.”

“Yeah, there’s just one cardinal rule in our house: cook doesn’t clean.”

“So you don’t cook much then?” Dom said from the top of the table.

Brian dropped a series of half full cups into his bag and pulled a sour face before answering. “If you wanna try the best boxed macaroni and cheese with frozen veggies and whatever meat is on sale for the week, then you’re looking at the right guy.”

Meaning that Dom should prepare to do all the cooking. “So my point about you not cooking stands, Chef Boyardee.” Brian’s response was an impolite gesture, followed by tying his bag off and looking for the garbage can. “I got it.” Dom took the bag from him and nodded at the house. “Go get to work, Prince of Pots.”

Brian mimicked Suki’s little bow. “As you command, master.” Shit, if Brian weren’t already walking away, then he’d be in trouble.

Dom had left the two bags of trash by the big table and moved to collapse the folding chairs around the extension. He looked up when the back door slammed.

“You done getting your butt kicked, Vince?”

“I beat Loud Mouth so I’m doin’ great.” He went to the side opposite of Dom and began to fold and stack the other chairs.

“I’m glad you found someone you could beat fair and square.” Dom joked.

Vince shook his head, disgusted. “No, I would win more if Let didn’t cheat. Just cuz someone frags you on-screen doesn’t mean you do it in real life.” Dom only understood half of what he said but rolled with it. “Everything’s been cool though. That pillow wall was a bit extra, Dom. The twins haven’t moved an inch.”

Precaution was easier to do than potentially apologizing, because those often didn’t work. “Yeah, Brian said it would take firecrackers and a marching band to wake them up. I know how you get though when you’re playing, so I didn’t wanna take any chances.” The one time Vince had beaten Letty fairly, Vince had shot up from his spot on the couch, throwing his arms up like He-Man and had strutted around doing some hybrid abomination of the Robot and a Viking victory stomp. If Dom had ended up on the floor, then it was because there was a sudden wet spot and not him losing his balance because he was laughing so hard that he tripped over his feet. Because that just never happened.

Vince continued, “They were fine. It’s that little one, you gotta keep your eye on.”

The little one? “You’re talking about G-Giselle?” Curious what she’d done to get on Vince’s suspicion radar.

“Dom, she kicked all our asses like it was nothing. Then said she was rusty. What the shit, man! C’mon.”  
To dethrone the reigning champ and all contenders meant the youngest O’Conner was good.

Dom closed the last chair and set it with the rest of the collection. He grabbed one garbage bag, leaving the other for Vince. They walked over the garbage cans in the shadow of the garage and dumped them. They didn’t go far as Vince stopped him.

He asked pointedly, “What are you doin’, Dom?” There was only seriousness in his voice.

History proved that being a smartass would only swing Vince into anger. Meeting him head on was less volatile for spiking his temper. “Gotta be more specific. Cuz I know what I’m doin’ right now and I don’t think that’s the answer you’re looking for.”

When Vince crossed his arms, his ink went on display like an animal flashing it colors in warning, and he leaned into the wooden façade of the garage, a rare expression of indulgence on his face. “Okay, you want specific? Here I go: what’s up with you invitin’ Snow White and the Crayola Dwarves around?”

Dom was stuck in a fifty-fifty situation: half of him wanted to laugh because Vince was a genius at making descriptive insults and the other half wanted to roll up on his oldest friend like they haven’t been close since forever for insulting his…Brian.

He unclenched his jaw. “You’re sounding unfriendly, V. Everyone’s a stranger once.” Everyone in the house, other than him and Mia, had been new to the house and DT’s at some point and had eventually settled in. Just because it had been forever ago didn’t mean that it hadn’t happened.

“I’ll give Blondie points for being able to drive, so point. But he’s got some shit going on if he’s in charge of that set. Dude’s like a young version of Old Mother Hubbard with all those damn kids. If he lives in a shoebox, then, yep. My point exactly, Dom.”

Dom tried to be funny. “Since when do you know nursery rhymes?”

Yeah, which only made Vince scoff, “Since you started running the Dominic Toretto Charity for the Beach Blond and Parentless.” Vince shrugged. “You don’t owe him anything, Dom. He helped you and that’s cool, but there’s no need to go so deep with it.”

“That’s true but there’s other stuff.”

Vince grumbled inarticulately and stomped away to the tables and swooped down to pick up a clutch of the chairs and headed back to the Beast’s garage. Dom picked up the second set and followed him, pointedly keeping thoughts of the time spent inside of the garage with Brian off his face.

Vince parked his set against the back wall and moved out of Dom’s way for him to do the same. He didn’t continue through the open door though, just stopped and waited. Putting his back to Dom was a show of just how mad he was. “I know, Dom.”

“Know what?” Somehow it got quieter.

“I know who he is, Dom. He’s from that club.” Then Vince looked at him, waiting for an answer.

Back to that fifty-fifty split: to lie or to tell the truth? He was curious why Vince hadn’t said anything already. Knowing Vince he probably wanted to forget that night ever happened but each time he saw Brian it kept bringing it back.

Dom only ran when there was no other option. What Brian had given him in the garage had been the barest of essential truths. So Dom owed him a minimum of that same honesty whether he was there to see it or not. “You’re right. He works at the club and we’ve been hangin’ out.”

Vince nodded absently. “After we got in there and I was like thirty-eight deep in the line for the grub, I thought about fuckin’ with you. Just because, right? We’re in a strip club with male strippers, what the fuck else am I gonna do but eat and stare at the wall paper.”

Well, Vince had been his third suspect for the dance and even now it seemed unbelievable. “So what did you do?”

“I went to the chick at the bar to ask about the dancing in the back but then they brought out a new pan of sweet and sour chicken and I had to go.”

Again, Dom had been right to not believe that Vince had gotten him the dance. “I lost out on being pranked because of sweet and sour chicken.” Dom stated clearly and slowly which made Vince’s change of plans sound more ridiculous.

Vince waved him off. “Dom, if you’d had some, you would understand why I gave up. Fuckin’ delicious. Like straight outta Chinatown delicious.”

The point had been made that Vince didn’t sell him out because he’d been overwhelmed by tasty chicken. Dom wouldn’t probe that fact anymore.

But Vince wasn’t done. “I saw Blondie doin’ the cop thing on stage and y’know me and cops? I stopped watchin’ and went to get some more grub, came back and you were gone. Then I saw Blondie comin’ back from the VIP hall, lookin’ like a stripped down Ken doll, and then here you come about two minutes later lookin’ like you rang a bell that I don’t wanna ring.”

Dom scrubbed a hand over his face. In one afternoon, he’d found he had no secrets that he could hide. Everyone around him could read him cold. “V, listen--”

Vince held up his hand to cut Dom off, though the gesture wasn’t angry. “You don’t--don't have to tell me what you did or didn’t do. I’d prefer that you didn’t for the sake of our friendship. Just sayin’.” He took a scanning glance of the backyard and the house. Vince had just as much invested in time and memories in 1327 as his home as Dom. “I told himself that you’re a grown man. You can do whateva the fuck you want. Not my business and I’ll respect it. So I let it go. When Peaches and Cream showed up to the race and then you brought him back to the house, I was back to wantin’ to know what. are. you. doing?”

What could Dom tell him? Hell, he wasn’t sure himself. Whatever _it_ was, as expansive as it might be, Dom hadn’t felt this normal in a long time. When he said he was fine now, he actually meant it. He couldn’t give Vince the answer he wanted but he could offer a start. “The truth, V?”

“Hit me.”

Dom squared up beside him and did his own survey of the house and the other parts that made it a home. “I don’t know. I talk to him and it’s like I’ve known him all my life and it’s just _so_ easy. Lemme be clear: I’m not into all dudes.” He felt compelled to reassure Vince of that fact. “I loved Letty but we’re done and…Me and Brian just click. I honestly can’t explain it.”

“Ew.” Vince uttered childishly and side-stepped Dom’s retaliatory punch. “I don’t wanna hear about you two _clicking_. I’m cool with not knowin’ what’s up with you two. Just like I’d be with not knowin’ about you and Let since she’s like my sister. I’m fine with it. Dom, I love you like a brother. If I had one brother in this life, it would be you. So whateva makes you happy, whateva gets you back to before, I’m okay with it. Even if it’s Stripper Bunny that gets you there.”

There was nothing in Dom’s eye. Nothing in his throat either. He folded Vince up in huge hug, squeezed him hard and let him go.

Vince kissed the top of his head. A habit he started from the time that Dom decided that he and his hair needed to go separate ways. “Just be careful.”

“I’m trying.” Dom confessed. He didn’t know what he was doing but he’d take care along the way.

Vince exhaled and went back to posturing with his arms crossed. Then he threw out offhandedly, “I feel like I should congratulate you for hooking up with a stripper, but then your stripper is a dude, so.” He gave an unsure shrug. “Con-grat-u-lations?”

Dom shook his head laughing. “Thanks, everything’s cool. It’s actually good.” They went back out into the dying sunlight, allowing him to lock up the garage. “Here’s a piece of advice though.”

“Yeah?”

“Cool it with the nicknames around his brothers and sisters. I don’t want you to get jumped.”

Vince snorted as they walked over the low scrub of grass. “Same goes for you if shit with you and the Boy Wonder goes sideways.”

“C’mon, man. Not even five seconds...”

Vince surrendered. “That was the last one for a while. Trust me, I’ve gotten that they’re real die hard for their brother. I said something and girlie moved so quietly, I hadn’t realized she moved until I turned my head and she’s just right there. Mean-muggin’ the hell out of me like the raptors in Jurassic Park. But I did not scream.” Vince said by way of patting himself on the back. “Really, I didn’t.”

Dom almost believed him. “Of course.”

* * *

Later on Rome got his wish granted by the benevolent gods of paper plates and aluminum foil. Dom and Mia followed Brian and crew out to the _Ro-Machine_. The one major plus of the big Caddy was that it was more than capable of hauling the big five all in various stages of adulthood and the two car seats.

Mia and Suki continued talking, making promises to hang out and Dom knew he could probably expect more of the O’Conners to start hanging at the garage or the market. He and Brian didn’t get to talk again, just long enough for Brian to tell him that Mia had extended Jesse’s previous offer to watch over the twins when he was at the shop with Dom or whenever in general.

There was a promise about texting later between him and Brian and then Rome had the big purple Caddy easing down the drive.

Mia stood with him, watching the car pull away. She waved back once more until the car was out of view.

“That was nice. Actually, a lot of fun.” She said.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it and picked up a new best friend with all the promises you and Suki were making to hang out.”

“She’s a firecracker, Dom. I really like her. Honestly, I like all of them.”

That was awesome to hear. Their two families would be spending more time together. “Me too, Mia.”

“I told Brian that he could bring the twins to the shop anytime. Jesse and I will gladly watch them.”

“Yeah, he told me.”

“I asked him if he’d ever had Cuban food and he said he’d had some once and liked it.” Mia touched his shoulder, drawing his eyes down to hers. “You should go to the place on Figueroa. With him.” She gave his arm a final squeeze and started walking back up the drive, rendering him speechless.

A couple of hours later, the promised text came.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35432711450/in/dateposted-public/)

 

 


	7. seven (bet on it)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long week, so Dom takes a trip to the Fox Hole Lounge to see Brian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.
> 
> Title from The Glitch Mob's [Between Two Points](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iaisDkR8Qg).
> 
> A/N 1: Music is very important in this chapter. I’ve embedded links to the songs on YouTube where they appear in the fic. I highly recommend giving these songs a listen when they’re referenced. Eventually, I’ll have a playlist compiled for the story on the series page. 
> 
> Songs of significance in this chapter:  
> Nicki Minaj feat. Beyonce, [Feelin Myself](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-ffaWVlTdY)  
> Tinashe, [Bet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ftB-DccfZkY)
> 
> A/N 2: So many Easter eggs in this chapter and the following one. See how many you can find. 
> 
> A/N 3: Dom’s feelings remain pretty high in this chapter and the next. Mostly, these feelings are related to his time in Lompoc and how he handles his relationship with Brian. 
> 
> A/N 3: If you’ve read my other works, then it’s obvious that I love a good crossover. So if you take a gander at the Just The Motion verse summary, then the inspiration for this verse is listed. 
> 
> A/N 4: So as for the dancing, I motivated by the idea that Brian/ Paul’s proficiency in fighting in canon could probably be extrapolated to equal talent in dancing, too. C’mon, depending on whom you ask, dancing and fighting aren’t that far off and certainly require a ton of coordination and rhythm to execute. Therefore, Brian’s a kickass dancer in this verse. 
> 
> A/N 5: Thank you to everyone who has commented on the story. This is my most subscribed to story to date. Actually, I have more subscribers than kudos. Since this is massive work in progress in the making, I understand being cautiously optimistic. Yet if you would like to drop me a line of concrit, questions, suggestions, kudos, etc., I’ll gladly accept them. Any encouragement is appreciated when trying something new.  
> As always, concrit is appreciated and enjoy!

After the barbecue, the week seemed interminably long as Dom and Brian went without seeing each other. All of those sayings about the heart growing fonder with absence were just skimming over how empty it felt to be separated after a bond was formed.

In essence, it was all bullshit. Making Dom’s temper flare after brief brushes that got him sitting on the cold side of familial glares.

There was texting on the daily without a prescribed minimum or maximum. Just enough lines to spell out the point the other wanted to make-- a smartass remark from either direction though Brian was in the lead, and promises for _later_. Always a _later_ that kept being pushed out farther and farther.

It hadn’t been any particular thing that had kept them apart. For Dom, the market had picked up, so he was doing swing shifts between it and the garage. Plus, Mia had entered her mid-terms so she was either holed up in her room or the school library and no one was to bother her on penalty of death from both him and her.

Meanwhile Brian was dealing with a massive up-swell in Harry’s business, perhaps from his prop kids or the creeping proximity of Race Wars. Nonetheless, he was busy. With it being summer, the Fox Hole Lounge was the epicenter for bachelorette party fun within the entirety of L.A. County, so Brian found his usual two days expanded to an exhausting six to accommodate the demand for dancers prior to the exchange of rings and promises to be faithful forever.

This was why Dom was back at the Fox Hole Lounge on a Monday night with a twenty in hand to pay the man at the door. The big blond mountain standing in front of the velvet rope took the twenty with only a slight flick of his eyebrow before stepping aside.

At the last moment before Dom was in the semi-neon lit dark, the doorman said, “House is full tonight. Prepare yourself for much pinching.”

“Thanks.”

Now Dom was familiar with the route up to the main floor and the brief adjustment to the eardrum rattling wall to wall base booming from the speakers when the performances were going.

When he got up to the main floor, the bouncer’s warning seemed like an understatement. Every table from the outer periphery of the stage to the wall was occupied; the front of the stage was packed, reminding him of bees swarming over a honey comb. The strobe lights glittered off a galaxy of tiaras within the sea of wedding parties and the smaller hubs of post-divorce revelry. The long sectionals that resided in the big corners for the larger parties were stuffed to bursting, resembling war parties with the streamers and ribbons, decked out and undulating for action.

Yeah, Dom didn’t idle too long on the entry platform and swiftly made his way over to the bar. Along the way, he noted a few more male faces in the crowd that normal, usually one or two in a predominately female-packed party but one or two smaller tables that were just a quartet of guys or less. He wondered how many of them hadn’t read the fine print on the buffet coupon, too.

At the bar, Dom immediately sought out an open seat by the wall. It was a terrible place if looking for the bartender’s attention though he didn’t worry about Sophie spotting him though the perfect position to ward off the unwanted attention already floating his way. There was no point in getting uncomfortable: we knew what he was in for when he decided to come.

That luck that had held out during his last visit had exhausted itself. Up on the stage working it out to some eighties disco-pop classic were the two slabs of beef that Dom recognized as the firemen from his first visit, now known as Roberto and Enrique. Coincidentally the song was dedicated to finding some hot stuff for the evening but the pair weren’t decked out as fireman. Instead, they were dancing around, hip thrusting aplenty as the world’s oldest pizza delivery boys.

Sophie’s greeting came with a Corona and two shots of Patrón—one for Dom and one for her.

“Tough night?” He asked as she slammed back the shot.

Over the music, she yelled, “Y’know how in war and chess, you get rid of your pawns first. Well--” she pointed at the giant delivery boys gyrating epileptically on the stage, “we’ve been doing that for the last three hours and they don’t look tired but my mind is ready to go.”

It was obvious that she was a tough kid for making it through three hours of that. “You’ve got this, Sophie. They can’t last much longer, right? You got the high quality material still waiting.”

She pumped her fist once and exhaled a tired breath. “Oh, yes. The good stuff is up next actually. Y’know you’ve got good timing. Did Brian tell you when to show up?”

Dom shook his head but didn’t get a chance to say more as Sophie had to shift down the line and start mixing a nuclear bright blended drink. She had a system that made pouring and adding the fruit speared on toothpicks into an efficient science.

Now back at his end, Dom admitted, “Brian doesn’t know I’m here. I figured I’d try to see him on one of his breaks since he’s been so busy.” Didn’t overshare about the new antsy itch under his skin after having to go without Brian’s physical presence for a week. Acting like a junkie needing a fix.

“June through early September are the worst. On one hand, I’m making enough in tips to live like a decent human being; on the other, I have to listen to this and work almost six days a week.”

“That’s rough.” He empathized.

“Tell me about it.” The song’s chorus began to loop and peter out. “Thank God,” Sophie said and then held up a finger indicating she’d be back.

The thump and warble of the next track was a digression from the stage music. It was musical filler until the action resumed and possibly a stopgap for the under siege bartender. He watched Sophie again, taking orders and filling them just as quickly with a confidence and competence that spoke to her underlying love of her job and the place itself.

His eyes swam over the crowd in a slow scan as if looking for an awaking sign of trouble. He’d been doing that a lot lately—just looking for trouble and finding none; none over his shoulder or on his back and certainly none in his head. He kept thinking about last Sunday and how easy—daresay, natural it felt to confess his dark sins. Just lay them out on an altar for Brian’s inspection, only to find himself vindicated. But it was the doubt that he’d be proven wrong that had made the week seem so long.

Catching his reflection in the mirror, Dom gave himself an all-knowing nod and pounded the shot. The burn matched his simmering state of anticipation.

In the time that Sophie was gone, Dom had fended off three boozy attempts at conversation, two brave shots of shy flirtation, and one half-cocked solicitation to fuck in the bathroom.

When Sophie returned, he was well settled into a state of generalized amusement. “Your guy wasn’t lying about the crowd being thick. So far, I’m being nice when I turn ‘em down. If the pinching makes an appearance then I may have to step up to protect my personal space.”

Sophie seconded the idea as she poured a tray full of shots for an awaiting waitress.

“Poor Klaus. He probably won’t come inside tonight during his break. Trust me, the guy knows very well what happens when a big guy walks through this crowd at one AM drunk.”

Many people were under the misconception that size was all that was required to handle things when a situation went sideways. People forgot that size and power were like a mac truck: only dangerous when operated properly; otherwise it just another big ass obstacle.

Dom wasn’t interested in seeing if Klaus could handle himself, but something Sophie had said did snag his interest. “Klaus?” Dom was right; the guy wasn’t local.

She could take a full step back from the counter since the patrons had been sufficiently replenished for the moment. “Yeah, he’s German. Came over to start an acting career,” she said over the music. “He’s actually been doing pretty well at it. He’s gotten, like, three parts—even one in that big movie with all the cars and pretty people doing the crazy shit.”

“No shit.” Klaus wasn’t atypical name in L.A. Just hearing it made Dom think of a villain from some Jean Claude Van Damme or Stallone flick. “Guess these hours make it work for him.”

Nodding, she said, “I may complain a little,” they shared a sly look at that one, “but this place isn’t that bad. Most of us have other stuff going on during the nine to five hours, but even when we don’t, sometimes hang out. You wouldn’t believe that me and Klaus are practically besties. He’s my workout buddy, too.”

Dom had a hard time imagining the little firecracker behind the bar hanging out with Big Boy from the door. Even harder was imagining the pair throwing weights together in one of those old school gyms that was straight up hardcore like in Rocky.

“Yeah, you’re right it sounds funny that you are _besties_.” He drawled but not impolitely. “But I can see how it works out for you—free personal training and all.”

He watched her do her scan of the crowd, reading it with sharp eyes before making an assessment of situation normal. Sophie then shifted her attention to the bar to ensure that it too was up to standard. Rounding back on him, the look she gave him was so fond it was damn near cute. “Training, not so much. It’s more like body guarding. No offense, guys here in L.A. think no is more of a suggestion than a directive. So I’ll say ‘no’ then I’ll walk over to Klaus and ask about bicep curling techniques and he’ll roll his eyes and start talking about form and breathing and those persistent non-suitors get scarce real fast.”

Dom gave her a small salute with his beer and Sophie took a half-bow. “I don’t know the guy but that’s nice of him to do for you.”

“He gets a kick out of it. Who wouldn’t, right? Anyway, we’ve got a mutual appreciation society going, so I scratch his back, too.” Dom’s questioning brow raise was met with “No, not like that. Klaus is a cool guy and so much deeper than his image, which I’m sure you understand--” Who Dom was pre and post-Lompoc was a perception that had always been skewed in one direction. Had been skewed so long that he almost believed it. “—he’s kinda quiet and likes quiet things so I’m his deterrent to keep people from looking at him funny.”

“Gotcha.”

She motioned behind him to the busy activity on the stage. Three guys were moving swiftly to erect a rectangular frame with white fabric that resembled a shower curtain across the length of the stage.

“See that?’ Dom watched the frame go up, dividing what once appeared to be a single band of fabric into five separate rectangular sheets. “That’s what my work bestie and I came up with. Brian and I are, like, the perfect partners here. He picks a song and asks for an idea or he comes to me with choreography in need of a song. The end result is always the same—fucking magical.”

“Brian said this place would be lost without you, now I see he was right.” Dom offered as congratulations which Sophie accepted graciously. On the front side, it pleased Dom to hear that Brian was good at his job. To hear that his talent and intelligence were being appreciated. On the back side, hearing the praise about his performance at the Fox Hole Lounge, specifically made him full of a slithering feeling; one that Sophie had inadvertently tripped but hadn’t placed on a trigger.

She struck him as the type that was rarely indecisive and direct without being cruel. So he read the (cloudy) look on her face and considered why she would hold back now. He curled his hand at her, letting her know to just bring out whatever she was thinking and she gave him a small dip of her chin.

Sophie leaned over the bar on her elbows which was an unspoken invitation to speak privately publicly. “This is just my two cents—so take it, leave it, do whatever you want,” she started, then cast her eyes behind him at the stage, “—but I think you should pay attention to what’s up next. I’ll ask your forgiveness if I’m wrong about what’s going on between you two, but if I’m right then I think it’s good that you showed up tonight.”

He didn’t know where to begin unraveling her observation. Her confession? Her advice? Within the last seven days, he’d discovered he had become the book that everyone seemed to be reading—a real life best seller and had at last count at least three people who knew where he and Brian were headed before he did, and now he possessed the vaguest of vague advice that could ever be received from a strip club bartender outside of a black and white film.

Patiently, Dom began to unravel the knot. “Okay, so can you give me a clue or a vowel or somethin’ because that just…yeah, I’m not sure what to expect.”

Sophie poured up another shot and offered a small double pat on his arm. “Just turn around and watch. Then you’ll get it.” Then she was off towards the DJ booth.

Dom placed himself within a direct line to the stage as the house mic came up and the hypnotic house trap died down to a ghostly echoing woof. Sophie’s voice followed shortly, pitched low and raspy like it had been stretched under a strain that melted it down to a lazy purr.

“Alright, lovely ladies and not-so gentle gentlemen, we’ve had a request or two for something special tonight. It seems that there might be a party or two in the house celebrating some forthcoming nuptials. But before some of you move to start these new lives, we at the Fox Hole Lounge want you to have an experience. Something to remember us by. Just a little keepsake of what it is that you’re leaving behind. Whether with someone else or by yourself, just remember to take some time to just _feel_ …Mops will be on standby in the event anyone gets a little wet. Now, let’s start the show.”

The stage had gone black again. Dom took a swallow of Corona and asked himself what the hell was he going to see?

The music started with a winding synth whistle under-riding the female MC’s voice, circulating like an invisible cord across the stage until it landed on the center column of white, now featuring the projected form of a male silhouette.

As the singer began to chant how she was feeling herself, the dancer’s body popped and locked to the track, hands moving in-sync with the repeated riff— _feelin’ myself, feelin’ myself_... A declaration that brought the dancer alive, first by touching arms, shoulders, chest, and stomach until a shirt was peeled away and dropped between the standing screens.

The return of the MC saw the center column darkened again but illuminating the far left and right columns where the dancers moved in tandem. Aggression, raw, and directed through the dancers’ hips as that cord snaked from shoulders down, bringing them into a dirty series of thrusts—first on the left, then the right until there was a smooth slide into just right. Wax on, wax off, indeed. The pants went right just as the chorus returned.

The outer columns dimmed once more while the center column returned and the dancer moved, circling a chair. It was a quest to find the right angle to touch the dancer or the ghost body on the chair. The dancer moving forward and back until flipping over the back to straddle the seat, hips jerking forward and then ass going back and back until it was obvious that the dancer was locked in a ghostly ménage a trois –getting it as good from the front as the back. Because it was all fantasy: one dedicated to just feeling themselves. Then went the pants.

The lights to the second set of columns, immediately to the right and left of the center, came up on the dancers already in progress. Shirt and pants gone and deep into showing the meaning of laying the pipe and taking it, too. They dropped down from a convulsive squat to bended knees and demonstrated the hip winding advantages of the position; arms and legs fluttering to the beat until they launched into a spin—a corkscrew dedicated to the strength of putting _back into it_ to increase the strength of just feeling it.

Darkness again until light rose on the center column; the dancer already positioned on the floor, arms and legs swimming in and out from the hands and knees, ass moving up and down like that party of three ain’t going anywhere soon. The final snares punctuated by the double-tap pelvic slam on the floor and the slow hand traveling from mouth to navel to dick. The demon of fantasy conjured by feeling themselves now exorcised by letting go.

The music ended. The shaking of the walls wasn’t from an easy six-oh on the Richter Scale; no, just the place losing its ever-loving shit over the curtain show and possibly the sounds of brides-to-be chucking off their heels to jump the stage to get a taste of that feeling.

Yeah, that was wild. Throwing in a little mouth play at the end had Dom going, “Christ.” He could actually believe that feeling yourself or anything resembling what he’d just watched would lead to blindness. If it did, he’d gladly take the last shot of the center column with the fluttering bounce of that ass in the air and the slow crawling reach around.

The Patrón made his eyes water as it went down, coating the world in hazy halos of strobe clouds and glass-shaking sound. Unlike previous performances, the guys didn’t duck back behind stage when done. No, tonight they were leaping off the stage, just diving into the crowd to roll with the waves of screaming fans. He’d advise watching where they were going because there were bound to be some wet spots.

But it was the circular train of thought of thinking about Brian thinking about him choosing that song and going out to put on that performance, illustrating just what he’d like to do rather than what he’d pretend to give anyone else that had Dom chasing the Patrón with half a Corona.

He was almost thankful to see Rome stalking through the edge of the crowd to come his way. The obvious reason being that wherever Rome went Brian was sure to follow.

Rome threw his arms out like he was going to ensnare Dom in a deep, sweaty hug. Dom was normally up for contact but Rome was sweating buckets and damn near naked minus the black shorts that rode so low on his hips they could’ve been a digitally inserted censored bar.

To hold him back, Dom threw out a hand for an alternate high-five. “The seats ain’t the only thing that needs a mop around here.”

Rome’s teeth glowed incandescent under the club lighting. “Man, you work hard to play hard.” His charismatic smile brilliant like any kind of star—human or heavenly. “You and me must be on a psychic wave. I was hoping you’d feel me reaching out in the universe for you to make an appearance out here.”

“Why, there somethin’ you wanna tell me, Rome?” Dom added enough suggestion in his voice to genuinely fuck with Rome and began to laugh when Rome scrunched up his face like he was being forced to swallow something bad.

Rome shook off his comment literally. “Gross but naw. I hoped you’d be here, cuz Bri’s walking ‘round here lookin’ moon-eyed and shit. He’s so in it right now that I can practically feel the weight of feelings in the air. It’s like goddamn Twilight in our house, except we missin’ the body glitter and the shitty vampires.”

Honestly, there were no words. None. Dom didn’t know where to start with Rome’s in the trenches analysis of Brian. He could see similarities to where he’d been until approximately five minutes ago.

Brian pushed his brother away. “Go collect tips, so we have a way to feed your ass.” He positioned himself between Dom and Rome which put his very naked and not nearly as sweaty back flush against Dom’s side, and the part of him pressed up against Dom’s hip made his brain do its own shuffle-slide-stutter step.

The cartoonish waggle of Rome’s eyebrows refocused Dom and forced him to snicker. “Don’t deny yourself, Bri. Go get that beautiful payoff.” Rome turned to Dom. “And you, man, do something. Go break some laws. Do something fifty shades of illegally legal. Just get this one to cut the emo shit!” Rome shouted as he was swallowed by the throng of patrons circulating across the floor.

They watched him go until it was just them at the bar. Brian’s jaw was clamped tight in a lock of annoyance. Damn, Rome really had worked his last nerve. Dom watched him just short of fascinated at witnessing Brian’s cool melting into puddles of molten anger. The exploration didn’t end there either; like Rome, Brian was bare down to the low-cut shorts that made inappropriate suggestions by being suspended at the low angle of his pelvic chevrons.

Floating on the low running burn of tequila and Corona, Dom pitched his voice low and licked his lips as was an old habit that brought the eye down to the shiny, wide surface of his mouth and spoke into Brian’s ear. “Word on the street says that you were using that little display to make a statement.”

Close like this, Brian’s movements vibrated through Dom with each shift and slide, the thrum of his pulse just out of reach.

Brian angled his chin down to put them eye to eye. “You think that display was little?” It was the same look as before they raced, a look that embodied the striking of a match and the prolonged moment between letting it drop in a pool of gasoline and the resulting explosion.

Hell no. “No, just curious which one you were?”

Now Brian adopted Dom’s little move until he started teasing Dom’s ear with the faintest touch of his lips. “Where else would I be other than center stage. Were you confused by me goin’ front, back, or side to side?”

Dom sat up on his stool and shifted his legs wider, inviting Brian to stand between them with the subtle change. “You showed that you can feel yourself. You been feelin’ anything else lately?” The question was whether Brian would be able to handle Dom if he got to feel him again. Then Dom added, “Your car missed you.”

“My car?”

“Yeah, Jess has been putting in a lot of time comin’ up with specs for your turner. Been talkin’ about a stripped down V6, H-section connecting rods, custom exhaust headers--” He stopped when Brian held up a hand.

Brian shook his head then turned his eyes down to the carpet. “That’s just rude, man. Comin’ in here talking dirty like this? You know I can’t do anything about it, but, shit, you’re right: I can see why my car would be miss me.”

There was a mountain of irony in Brian calling him out for talking dirty considering where they were. But Dom keep rolling, because smooth was another thing woven into the intimate make-up of his being, so he could say, “You missed me,” as if it was an obvious conclusion without coming off as a jackass. “I’d miss me, too.”

They weren’t alone at the bar for long, so Dom found himself forced to hang back patiently as Brian had to charm a few of the patrons that had wandered over. Give them that movie star grin that literally made panties drop to the floor and knees get weak. A few even slotting in for some private time by waving down Sophie and shamelessly pointing and leering to ensure their desires and intentions clear.

The looks coming Brian’s way made Dom react like a blunt edge was passing over his skin: not very much. Make those same looks come from one of the sporadic dudes in the audience instead of a tipsy bridesmaid and that blunt edge turned sharp, burning shallow cuts in its wake.

Dom watched the interplay between Brian and Sophie—a well understood system of communication based entirely on head nods and partial smiles that possibly got Brian booked for every minute when he wouldn’t be up on stage for the remainder of the night.

Once uncrowded again in Dom’s little corner, there was a noticeable down-shift in Brian’s mood. No longer dialed up to ten for the purpose of his job. His attention was a narrow wavelength set just to Dom.

“I thought a lot about what you’ve said and realized it was only fair that I do some talking. Problem is that I don’t do talking so well. I’m an action kinda guy...” he trailed off as the bass started rattling the walls.

“Then take that action and make me understand what you want to say, cuz you got my full attention.”

So Brian was putting it down like that? Actions always spoke more than words and thus far, Brian’s actions ran the gamut of driving fast, dancing like the devil, making smartass commentary, and raising kids like the Hood Mary Poppins. He couldn’t forget that fast cars made Brian hot which made him more appealing to Dom because Dom got the appeal of fast cars and those brave enough to drive them.

The way Brian was vibrating against him confirmed what Dom suspected. “My break isn’t for another hour and a half. I’m supposed by hanging with the customers until my next set.” He dipped into his shorts and pulled out a bill but Dom pushed his hand down.

He’d come to Brian and was essentially interrupting his job, so Dom was obliged to pay for his time when on the clock. Brian watched him with lightning sharp eyes, signaling over Sophie without breaking contact.

When she came over to Dom’s end of the bar, he handed her the twenty and Brian said, “Three,” then had him by the hand—not wrist or arm—by the hand and was leading him to the back.

For a span of fifteen seconds, the world tunneled into a cone of black, only broken by the distant glow of the red exit sign as Brian led him down the hall; the bass still kicking as they went, warped and faded like the distant call of war drums before the start of a deep battle.

The rooms were marked with the thick print of Roman numerals at the top center, reflecting the distant red light without demonstrating whether they were truly silver or gold.

Unlike his last venture back to the champagne room, this one was noticeably smaller after making the first sweep. The short leather couch was positioned over the apex of the room, making the room into a narrow diamond configuration. The door closed, cutting off the stray fingers of red and now settling the room into the moody haze of black on blue, the color of bruises.

Brian pushed him back into the couch and retreated before Dom could pull him forward. The storage panel containing the music was positioned in the same discrete corner and Brian hit a couple of buttons, then stopped to focus on Dom once more.

“I think I need to make a bigger statement.”

“Well, you’ve got me here, so I’m up for whatever you’ve got.” Brian dropped his eyes to his crouch and scrolled up. That smirking turn of his mouth spoke of just how up for it Brian knew he was.

“Your choice. Whatever you want. Just know that God’s Eye is always watching.” He pointed up to the opposite corner and the small black head of a camera with perfect sight over the couch.

“Dance for me.” Wanted Brian to clarify that statement he’d been trying to make on-stage, this time with no one else to receive it except Dom. And give him another reason to respond in kind.

The music kicked on.

Dancing wasn’t something Dom had seriously put much thought it into. It was a thing that was ever-present with music—his parents in the kitchen, the after parties, what people did on the block whenever the music got too loud and the temperature too hot to do anything else but party. Never considered it to be a way of making a statement.

Brian did a series of movements that locked and released his body which was still far too distant from Dom’s. He moved with the music like it was inside his veins, coursing through him with the force of his life’s blood and spiking whenever Dom reacted.

When Brian came closer putting himself within Dom’s reach, moving between his legs without friction, then over Dom eye to eye, mouths sharing breath, hips rolling like the melody surfed down his spine. Still hovering above Dom, teasing him and drawing the moment out, only touching where it was safe but daring Dom to cross the line under God’s Eye.

The song made promises of forever and betting on those guarantees. Brian was a dancer; he knew how he moved, twisting and curling like he was winding a tight string. His body signing contracts in one move that made Dom understand why two out of ten bangers on hip-hop radio were about falling in love in a strip club.

With his back to Dom’s chest, he took Dom’s hands and crossed them over his chest. Below the thundering of the music, Dom could feel it—the pound of Brian’s heart, hard and fast, completely dysrhythmic; a show of its own just for Dom.

Sliding into Dom now that he was over his lap and making a perfect picture in the mirror above. Brian’s hands flowing over his neck, mimicking the places his mouth had been, challenging Dom to push him away and not turn his head just so until they were mouth to mouth again, mouth on skin like the murky dark demanded.

A week of silence was worth this. A week of distance created this moment deep and colliding like the fucking Big Bang and if the music didn’t stop soon then he’d sin like no other under God’s Eye.

Brian danced like Dom worked on cars and grills for a living; it wasn’t all that he was. Who he was came to Dom in bursts of fits and starts, running hard and brilliant like a ten second car.

When the song ended, Dom thought twice of pulling out another bill. Instead, he kept his hands over the flexing muscles in Brian’s bunched thighs and danced his fingers over the low rim of those shorts.

Above him, Brian asked, “Understand the message?”

Dom nodded.

Before Brian got up he said, “Rome’s so full of shit. There was nothing Twilight going on. My vampire universe of choice is Blade.”

Dom approved. “Good taste.”

“Right, now c’mon before the management demands a re-up.”

Brian brought him into the empty hall, still leading him by the hand which Dom knotted until their palms touched.

Before they exited the hall, Brian pulled him aside and offered him a kiss. Just a long, slow brush with minimum tongue. Brian withdrew after a few seconds and licked his lips. “Thought you were just a Corona man?”

Dom traced where Brian had been, savoring the taste of tequila and Brian on his lips. “Had to have something to take the edge off.” His tongue skirted the edge of his bottom lip.

Pulling away was Brian’s away of shutting Dom down, knowing better than to go back for more. Here away from the camera’s eye, he said, “Go home, Dom.”

“Why?”

“Just go home.” Brian looked stubborn. He didn’t want Dom to refuse. “I’m off at the end of the week. We’ll do it then.” _It_ being more than the camera would allow.

Brian had given him his fix, but couldn’t float him any longer. Had to stop him from torturing himself further. So he listened to Brian and left the Fox Hole Lounge.

Later that night a few hours from sunrise, Dom lied in his bed thinking about the convergence of a long week into a handful of minutes that felt like everything that really mattered. He was still too wired for sleep and couldn’t stop the machine gun spray of thoughts that inserted memories of Brian moving behind the screen for him and then moving across his lap with him. Repeating what he’d seen in the first performance made for a long blasphemous trek from his chain to his dick.

If he felt any genuine desire to repent, he’d wait until morning light until then he had the snare and snap of Brian’s sinfully honest exhibition to keep him from sleep and the steadily approaching limit of _later_ to look forward to next time.

The end of Brian’s shift allowed him to give Dom one final word:

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35432711070/in/dateposted-public/)

Later couldn’t arrive soon enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter and the next are a little longer to make up for the extended break between updates. Enjoy!


	8. eight (alone)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dom decides to break the moratorium on _later_ , only if he can get around the watchful eye of the younger O' Conner siblings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.
> 
> Title from The Glitch Mob's [Between Two Points](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iaisDkR8Qg).
> 
> A/N 1: Songs of significance in this chapter:  
> JMSN, [Alone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6EH9xuMccy4)  
> Miguel, [Coffee](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-7nzDmC9fY)
> 
> A/N 2: So many Easter eggs in this chapter. See how many you can find. 
> 
> A/N 3: Dom’s feelings remain pretty high in this chapter. Mostly, these feelings are related to his time in Lompoc and how he handles his relationship with Brian. As you imagine, some of these feelings may cause problems later.
> 
> A/N 4: Thank you to everyone who has commented on the story. This is my most subscribed to story to date. Actually, I have more subscribers than kudos. Since this is massive work in progress in the making, I understand being cautiously optimistic. Yet if you would like to drop me a line of concrit, questions, suggestions, kudos, etc., I’ll gladly accept them. Any encouragement is appreciated when trying something new. 
> 
> A/N 5: This chapter gets _steamy_. Just a FYI.  
>  As always, concrit is appreciated and enjoy!

Dom made his decision as Han used the front counter as a perch to watch him. The kid was occupied taking slow, noisy bites of the last batch of homemade plantain chips still warm from the fryer. He was still wary of the kid watching him like he was waiting for some spectacular turn of events—like the big reveal in the telenovela of explosions, flying doves, and gun battles framed as old westerns—to occur while Dom hovered by the grill.

“You look like something is happening.” Han admitted, a long crispy strip midway to his mouth.

“Naw, nothing’s new.” But he was stuck on his next move. He stood in front of the big industrial stove like it was a puzzle that needed solving and each piece seemed to be flipped backwards and around. “Just figuring something out.”

Han crunched away as if it was totally cool to eat the market out of business. The things he did for Mia by hiring her friends. “Can I offer a little advice?”

Dom spared him a questioning look, wondering what this kid could possibly teach him other than the secret to eating like a black hole and not gaining an ounce.

“—if you’re gonna cook, then cook. If not, then back way from the stove. That glare thing you’re doing—yeah, that thing doesn’t look too healthy and I pretty sure it’s a fire hazard since there’s oil around.”

The kid had a mouth like just about everyone else Dom knew but that didn’t stop the kid from being right. He needed to figure his shit out and move beyond Point A to Point B and then on to the next. The only hurdle: his own indecision colored by nervous doubt.

So when he turned to Han who was halfway through the paper tray of chips, he manned up to ask, “What’s the Han Pick of The Day?” As soon as he asked the question, Dom had to remind himself that Mia was the genius and he gave her free reign over marketing of the market, so when she decided to use Han’s discriminating and nearly bottomless stomach as the arbiter of market’s pick of the day, Dom agreed, because it was Mia’s idea. Though he wasn’t sold on Han’s skills entirely.

Now he was at the crossroads of his making; he was asking the kid for advice and hoping that he wouldn’t come to regret it.

The crunching ground to a slow halt. “Besides the chips, my pick of the day is Arroz con Pollo, for sure. It’s the food you make when you’re making a bold statement about who you are, right? You show off that you’re deeper than expected, really freakin’ rich, and have got some deep ideas about tradition. Like you know exactly who you are.”

Well, shit. That was far from what Dom had expected. “You really put some thought into these picks.” Said Dom, already moving towards the back to get started since he actually could agree with Han’s choice.

Han shrugged as he shook out the final collection of chip pieces into his palm and tossed it into his mouth then chewed nosily one last time. “Most times, yeah. Right now though, no. It’s the best thing you make and I’m serious about the sparking a fire thing so I think you should just do it. Like Nike. Just do it and feed the mystery beast.”

Dom’s laugh radiated through the kitchen. Maybe, the kid wasn’t half-bad. Maybe, Dom would give him a fair shot, especially if this like nugget of advice paid off.

“No fire hazards around here, Han. Just deep thinking.”

Han gave him a pointed look that was tinged in ageless wisdom. “I’m pretty sure that’s the same thing in your case. No offense, Dom. Just a fact.” The kid had guts and balls which Mia obviously conjectured would make him fit perfectly into alignment within Dom’s universe.

Whether Han could have his trust was a trial yet to be tested until then Dom had something else the kid could do. “We’ll revisit facts later. For now, just hand me that pan and we’ll be square.”

Then Dom moved on to Point B.

* * *

 

Dom had been living under a storm cloud of _later_ since Brian had said that to him at the club. Later was a vague descriptor of the future because later could be within the span of a few minutes or years from now. Later was one of those broad thoughts that got passed around the cellblock like loose cigs to pass the time, swapping from hand to hand as a fleeting escape until the next round of _move, sit, stare, do as you’re told_ began.

He had few concrete things to anchor him with Brian and everyday distance of hectic schedules and harsh realities of living on opposite sides of town pushed those supports farther and farther away. So he drove to Watts on a gamble, knowing that he was probably setting himself up for a round of twenty questions and sitting in the middle of a fish tank with more eyes on him than the industrial burners behind the chow line in Lompoc.

This was Dom’s attempt to make _later_ into sooner. When he pulled up in front of the sturdy old white house where the _Ro-Machine_ was parked on the narrow concrete strips making the drive, Dom felt the tangibility of _later_ shift and slide like beads on a string.

He popped the gear into park and exited the Charger with his offering in hand. Each step closer to the door, making his heart rate stutter until he heard blood rushing in his ears. He opened the heavy iron security door first and paused, then knocked on the inner wood one.

Dom had rationalized that what he was bringing wasn’t a bribe. Not like a payoff to the O’Conner siblings to get some time with their big brother. No, he thought of the big pan as the steak thrown over a fence to distract a guard dog while you scaled the fence into forbidden territory. Just like those days of jumping fences, he still hoped that he wasn’t about to get his ass chewed up by the guard dogs on duty.

Standing on the low stoop under the hazy six PM sun, Dom assumed that he looked like either the world’s oldest delivery boy or ready to star in a porno. If Brian came to the door in anything classified as sheer, flimsy, or a little something, then that was a rabbit hole he’d gladly trip down.

But it was Suki who answered the door with a roll of shimmery red fabric levied on her shoulder, and his previous thoughts seemed infinitely more inappropriate. Her eyes narrowed just a fraction which Dom immediately telegraphed as the _little sister’s getting ready to start shit_ look before she yelled over her shoulder, “Brian, you got a delivery on the stoop and it’s a big one.” She said without taking her eyes off him.

As far as embarrassing introductions went, Dom would give her a four point five for effort since Suki went easy. Easy like a slap in the face instead of a jab to the exposed belly.

She stepped back to let Dom climb up and over the low threshold. The music, he’d noticed before, dropped to a humming string of thump and snare drum warbling.

The living room reminded him of his house prior to a post-race after party. The only real difference among the wall hugging sofa and wide seat semi-recliners and low tables being Brian standing shirtless at the center with Rome hovering over his shoulder like a pirate’s parrot.

So they were at a standstill with Brian and Dom sharing the relative silence as if they weren’t being chaperoned by two of Brian’s siblings.

Rome stepped around Brian and craned his neck to see what Dom had brought, his eyes transitioning quickly from shifty to excited. “See, when Suk said delivery I was thinking it was one of tha little kids around here sellin’ one of those bricks of chocolate that’ll break your teeth. But you actually comin’ legit with it?”

Dom held out the pan, the aluminum foil whining with the movement. “I know you like aluminum foil so I thought I’d bring you something to go with it.” So Dom’s gamble paid off because Rome snatched the pan from him and disappeared like the T-Rex did to the goat in the first Jurassic Park. Dom blamed Vince’s description of Giselle as a baby raptor in training for the dinosaur diversion of his thoughts.

“Suk,” Rome called behind him and the little sister stalked by Dom’s shoulder with the fabric roll now settled on her shoulder like a tin soldier’s rifle. The twinkle in her eye clearly spelling out trouble in the making.

She moved behind Brian to follow Rome but stopped to push him forward, then giggled and took off into what Dom assumed was the kitchen as Brian glared after her. Yeah, Dom was well schooled in the art of little sister mischief.

Brian gave him a short eye-roll of pseudo-exasperation. “You’ll be my alibi if I make those two disappear, right?”

“Gonna drop them off at the circus for real this time?”

Brian ran his fingers through his hair and huffed out a small laugh. “Naw, I think they’d like it too much. Maybe one of those farms where they take old dogs and lost bunnies. That’ll get them.”

“That’s so cold, Bri.” Dom chuckled.

“Well, it’s either that or setting them adrift on an ice berg and the last time I checked, L.A. didn’t have any of those, so, yeah.” Brian looked over his shoulder, “I’m not sure how long this will last.”

“You mean the chaperones on break?” Dom could hear the low slide of movement from the back but didn’t hear much sound to accompany it. In his mind’s eye, he easily imagined Rome and Suki hugging the corner of the doorway like the Scooby Gang trying to eavesdrop. “I kinda don’t wanna test the perimeter yet,” he flicked between the large gap between them, “those two seem the type to turn on the hose even in the house.”

Brian’s nova grin didn’t lie. “They’re a little protective.”

Between the fact that Brian was the center of their diverse little pyramid and Brian could stand around in ratty low slung gray sweats and still look like he was on shift and offering up a full menu of things still illegal in many parts of the world, Dom could see why they were so protective.

Then there was a sudden _slap-clack-rattle_ behind Brian and a set of double happy baby squeals that sounded like the infant equivalent of _us, too!_ from the big playpen set near the dining room table. Another rattle rolled and the twins gurgled loud and happily.

Of course, Rome popped his head out of the kitchen, taking a hawk-eye survey of the room’s players, a long pointed sweep that lost its intensity because Rome had a big silver spoon dangling from his lip.

“Bri, so I know we need to nail the thing, which I’ve already done--”

“Zzzz,” Brian snapped back like an angry buzzer. “Try again; this time remembering who got it the last four counts and not the one on his ass on the last one?”

Rome waved the spoon at Brian, gearing up to lay the verbal smack down. “You lucky, Bri, that Big D decided to drop by with all this and feed our hungry asses; otherwise, bruh…I’d be schoolin’ you like Twink and Tank learnin’ the ABCs.”

Brian and Dom shared a look, one that spoke of the instinctual need to step up to the challenge and demonstrate for once and all that wearing the crown wasn’t meant for just anyone.

Brian turned to Dom. “You just crossed the city and brought a ton of food. Are you staying?” Dom read the expectant look in Brian’s eyes that matched his own in coming over. He nodded.

Suki jumped in like Rome had moments before. “Bri, he came to Watts, not over the Pyrenees with elephants.” Dom caught Rome mouthing _good one, Suk_ and high-fived her.

Dom smirked. “Yeah, I’m staying. Someone’s gotta keep you from being double--” the twins shrieked again, “—double-teamed.”

Brian pointed him over to the deep brown recliner that had seen many better days. “You up for playing ref, too?” Dom had no idea how Brian and Rome were setting up to square off on but opportunity to pass judgement and possibly sway the count to Brian’s side was an opportunity not to be missed.

“Just give me the rules,” Dom said as he sat down between the nexus of the twins and the table.

“If you get him, I get Suk.” Rome protested but Suki was already making moves to disappear down another hall.

“Um, no. I’ve got stuff to do. I promised Mrs. Hobbs I’d bring the dress over for a final check by tomorrow and I really don’t want to watch you and Bri--” she jerked her arms and wobbled her hips in a terrible imitation of Brian and Rome’s dancing, “right before dinner. It smelled good, tasted even better, and I don’t want you ruin my appetite--”the last part she shrieked as Rome pivoted to chase her away.

“Take the set-up for what it is or give me the set.” Brian countered, crossing his arms like the picture of cool.

Rome shook his head defiantly. “Alright, Goldie Locks, I’m steppin’ up. I’ll do it. You and me—best two outta three and Big D, you tell us who’s better. Like the one you imagine being rained on with bills, bills, bills, bills!”

Dom sat back in the chair, sparing a look down at the twins who lied with their legs and waving arms stretched into the air, moving about like they were preemptively cheering their brothers on, and possibly preemptively taking sides when Brian looked down at his brothers.

“Take a lesson, lil guys. This is what happens when you talk trash and can’t back it up.”

Twink answered with a twittering chortle while Tank blew a spit bubble. Under that combined assault of cuteness, Rome didn’t stand a chance.

The contest began without an official start, just the silence of the first couple of beats until the bass kicked in and they were off together—all a-go with arms, shoulders, and legs going in jerking circuits. There was a question of when his life had become an episode of So You Think You Can Dance but stopped when beat kicked up and the rolling squats started, making Dom discern why watching Rome who matched Brian in loose sweats and no shirt didn’t inspire Dom to determine how the divot in between his shoulders tasted.

The reason for the sweats became apparent when the bass dropped and rolled into a palpitating snare, so hard that the subsequent roll, wobble, whatever booty drop that followed had Dom concerned that a hip might break within the next clutch of seconds.

Then the doorbell rang in the thick of the booty boom.

“You lucky as hell that you got saved by the bell.”

Brian straightened up, pulling up the sweats that had dropped low enough to be publicly and privately indecent. “Yeah, yeah, just get the door, Screech.”

“You so wrong for that--” Rome trailed off when the door swung open and the three got a look at the guest on the stoop.

On the stoop was a kid—under fifteen most definitely—already tattooed and rocking a chain nearly as thick as Dom’s, who looked superficially hard but came off shy as hell with his lanky arms shoved in his drooping jeans and chicken-chest puffed out in his black tank.

Rome swiveled a look at the kid and leaned into the door. “Sup, Rico Suave, can I help you?” Brian joined him on the other side of the door.

“Um…is Giselle here?” The Tattooed Kid asked while keeping his chin up.

The brothers shared a silent glance, then turned on the kid as one. “Yeah, and what does that have to do with you?” Brian asked. Dom almost pitied the kid standing inside the narrow tunnel made by the Brian and Rome.

“She told me to come by.” Which Rome parroted while the kid remained cool. “Look, man--”

Rome shut the kid down with a quick hand in his face, big and angry like Shaq used to do for the Lakers. “Um, it’s sir and sir and sir.” He pointed hotly to Brian and Dom like summer heat rising from the streets.

Whatever had been on the kid’s tongue before got swallowed and turned into something less snappy. “I’m not here to start nothin’, just need to see Giselle.”

Brian gave Dom a questioning look, clearly seeking his thoughts which Dom could empathize with by being a big brother. Dom would’ve marched a kid that looked like that off his porch and back down the block before he let the kid have a face to face with his sister; knowing his sister though, he’d just end up perched nearby with Vince covering the rear just to keep the kid honest. Then again, Giselle scared the shit out of Vince, so she had to be more badass than he expected.

He looked back at Brian and gave a slight nod. Brian’s responding eyebrow quirk showed surprise but a willingness to take the risk.

Then Brian yelled towards the back, “Yo, G! Come to the door!”

Dom’s initial suspicion that the house was deeper than expected was proven right. The living room was wide and long, stretching into a broad spanning dining room that dived off into an unseen kitchen and a long hallway that was separated by a nondescript door that Giselle appeared behind.

Giselle crossed her arms over her chest and gave the kid at the door such a withering stare that Dom felt his gut churn. She stood in the center of the room on long stork-like legs of late girlhood but carrying an attitude and general take no shit compunction of an Amazon.

“I said to come by at three-thirty. I see you’re wearing a watch and can’t use it or chose not to use it. But neither of those is my problem. My problem is you wasting my time.”

The Tattooed Kid didn’t pretend to be affected by her words; he was thoroughly scolded and starting to look from Rome, Brian, and Dom for some sort of saving grace. Dom had no dog in this fight but he was interested as hell in seeing how many more ways Giselle could hand this kid his ass without lifting a finger.

“I’m sorry. I really wanted to come but I got…” he sighed and took a deep breath, “I had some stuff to handle and I couldn’t get anyway. Like not at all. But I’m here now, so please.” Tattooed Kid pleaded.

Giselle’s eyes narrowed to dark slits for a long series of seconds until finally she dipped her head and uttered, “C’mon, I will help you this time and then you will leave. We are having dinner soon and you are not invited.”

So harsh. Vince hadn’t been exaggerating.

The kid proceeded inside between the narrow lane created by Brian and Rome and walked sheepishly over to Giselle.

“G?” Rome held out his arms, his body full of questions. “Who is he?”

“Business,” she stated as if the obvious conclusion was crystal, then took the kid back into the basement.

Rome looked at Brian who followed after the pair and disappeared down the stairs. Rome and Dom stared after him. When he came back, Brian answered simply, “It’s business.”

“What is she doing? Making meth?” Rome squawked as Brian partially closed the door.

“No, just doing her thing.” Whatever Giselle’s thing was a sufficient answer for Rome at the moment who also remembered that they had two more rounds to reveal a winner.

Rome pursed his lips, disapprovingly. “Bri, she’s got you wrapped around her little finger. That’s gonna bite you in the ass one day. Like chomp-chomp.”

Brian clapped Rome on the shoulder. “Funny, the only person I ever remember her biting was you.” Then he pivoted away to avoid Rome’s long swing.

Dom just took in their easy fraternal camaraderie, recognizing the constant stream of spewed insults and one-upmanship that came from years of living in tight quarters and the elastic bond of brotherhood. A dance that Dom, Vince, and Leon knew by heart.

“I taught him everything he knows.” Rome directed at Dom as he reset the track.

Brian cocked his head, giving his brother an affirming look. “Yeah, you taught me as in I taught you everything I know, had you to repeat it back to me, corrected you, and then remembered what not to do in the future.” Dropping the act to grin spectacularly at bursting Rome’s bubble.

Fast forward to Dom watching Brian and Rome engaged in the long snare drum roll and thump of their hips with Brian moving faster and faster though Rome followed him closely and Rome was pulling ahead—and then one twin started crying and the other started crying and the wall to wall double impact got the music shut off.

Suki appeared around the corner yelling, “Not it!”

Giselle’s head appeared from the edge of the door. “Not it!”

Rome threw up his arms, “Not it, bruh! That’s all you, big bro.”

Leaving Brian to deal with the wailing babies. “You see what I’ve gotta deal with, Dom? Look at this loyalty.” He went to the playpen, initially scratching the bellies of Tank and Twink but they weren’t having any of his attention. “I do this then I get the set.”

“No!” Rome retorted as Suki, Giselle, and Dom agreed, “Yes,” if only to get the twins to stop crying. The sudden wafting of funk in the air was the final piece of Brian’s leverage.

Brian bent low in the pen to get Tank while Dom pulled out Twink after he got the first twin settled in the angle of his arm. Brian shot down Dom’s offer to help by enfolding Twink within his free arm and offering Dom an appreciative smile, then he pointed himself towards the long hall.

Brian yelled behind him, “We better be eating by the time I’m done with Grand Funk Station.”

Suki and Giselle shared twin eye rolls as Rome proceeded to the kitchen still grumbling about being cheated.

In the time it took for Brian to change the twins and apparently shower, Dom had been drafted by Suki and Giselle to get dinner together while Rome was tasked with returning the house to looking like a home and not a mock dance studio. Having the house back in order made apparent that the decorator of the house was not one of the O’Conner siblings. The furniture was heavy—in good condition but far more mature than the current occupants, plus the recurring theme of Black gospel and pan-African art were the other clues. Obviously Rome’s grandmother’s influence.

Giselle marched the Tattooed Kid to the door before Suki put down the first plate. Indeed the Tattooed Kid had not been invited to dinner and probably wouldn’t be invited back for business or otherwise.

A brief flash of panic got Dom as the mile-high piled plates came out of the kitchen. The tray of Arroz con Pollo that he’d brought was normally reserved for special orders, banquets or large gatherings mostly, but the way it seemed the O’Conner siblings intended to shovel it in made the size of the pan seem insubstantial.

When Brian joined them at the table, now freshly showered, wearing a clean white t-shirt—probably the only thing Dom had seen him in that actually fit him so far and more sweats. Suki helped him put Tank in the only high chair Dom had seen that was wedged between them which already had a small bowl of bright orange pureed mush waiting and accepted a bottle from Giselle for Twink.

They made a five point star around the table—six, if counting Tank in his high chair and Rome kicked dinner off with a quick prayer much in the vein of the barbecue. Whether it was for Dom’s benefit or something they did anyway, Dom didn’t question it and just settled in.

As they ate, Dom learned that Tej was bugged out in a USC library like Mia had been over the last two weeks, only coming home for sleep, a shower, and sustenance that wasn’t caffeinated.

“I’m putting Tej’s part in the butter tub. Y’know the one with the mismatched top. It’ll be on the top shelf with his name,” she looked pointedly at Rome who looked moderately affronted by her subtle accusation. “If any’s missing, then there will be hel—heck to pay.” She corrected at the last second, remembering the little ears at the table.

Rome was quieter than before, mostly hunched over his plate and keeping a narrow circumference around it as he ate which cemented a passing suspicion from the barbecue that Rome had done some time. His body was tuned to a few levels above the relaxed state of Brian and the others; a look that only those having done time were familiar with and a posture which Dom had weened himself from doing over months but slipped into when feeling backed into a corner—much rarer now though slip ups still occurred.

Brian looked over at Dom in between navigating the orange mush onto the mouth of the tiny spoon. “So this guy was putting us on notice when we were at the barbecue. He was ready to move beyond the bottle.” Tank mouthed the mush when Brian got it to his mouth and dropped a large proportion to the blue and white bib that read _I Vroom Vroom for Veggies_.

Twink suckled his bottle contently, without mimicking his brother’s attention seeking antics. Though only half-brothers and brothers through marriage, Dom was fascinated by how Twink resembled Tej and acted like Brian while Tank resembled Giselle and acted like Rome.

Giselle held up a full fork, looked between the mini-hill of rice and chicken then over to Dom. “You cooked this?”

“Yeah.”

She chewed slowly, discerning the taste like a cutthroat television culinary judge. When she finally swallowed, the corner of her mouth curled. “It’s good.” He had not been holding his breath waiting for the judgement of a thirteen year old.

“G, be nice.” The warning no less potent despite the presence of orange mash on one hand and a suckling infant in the other.

“I am being nice, Bri. You’d know it was good if you were eating.”

“Later.” Brian’s tone indicating that this exchange was over.

Dinner ended with Brian and Suki taking the twins to be put down for the night and Rome and Giselle doing the dishes, leaving Dom without anything to do for a couple of minutes.

When Brian came back out, his face momentarily spelling out _finally_ until Suki appeared closely behind him, not quite tucked in his armpit but close enough and then Rome and Giselle exited the kitchen; once again putting Brian and Dom at the center of a heavily surveilled circle.

Suki suggested, “How about a movie?” Which Rome and Giselle seconded though she was already holding up a few nondescript white DVD sleeves. “I got these from Tej.” Not even present but Tej’s impact was felt.

So as Dom sat on the plastic covered couch, separated from Brian by two little sisters and under the watchful eye of a younger brother, conspicuously positioned in the wide recliner at an angle better suited to watching Dom than the movie, he deduced that his distraction hadn’t been big enough or, truthfully, that he had seriously underestimated the O’Conner sibling hive mind.

Suki curled into a loose sprawl in the space between them while Giselle sat between Brian’s feet, forcing him into service by giving him a hairbrush with the expectation that he use it and put her hair into a design that he was not getting right as evidenced by the number of times she reached up to tap his hand while he brushed and braided.

Dom compared sitting on the couch with three large and two small guards between him and Brian to what his Pop had said about dating his Mami. The O’Conner siblings chaperoned like they’d been schooled by the most true blue Catholic abuelas, having he and Brian contained to the living room and so far apart they didn’t even share the same air.

Eventually the movie about a group of misfit heroes in space, one of which was a talking tree, came to an end. Before Step D or E in the siblings’ playbook could come to fruition, Brian was up and off the couch and giving his siblings their next move. “Good night,” he declared, pointing to the hall and the basement door.

They were slow moving, sure, but they followed Brian’s order. Giselle and Suki both stealing a hug before they went their respective ways while Rome obtrusively watched Dom.

Dom watched Suki make a right down the hall first and emerge heading the opposite way a few seconds later with a baby monitor in hand.

“You too,” Brian said to Rome who slowly rose from the recliner and took his steps like Frankenstein stuck in neutral.

“You,” Rome pointed to Dom, “—have a good night. Just remember: red means stop and stop means stop and these walls… are thin.”

“Rome.” His name spread out like a countdown of one-two-three until the big explosion.

“Just sayin’, Po-Po.”

Brian bodily directed his brother towards the hallway. “Like Mama Pearce used to say ‘you don’t have to go to sleep, but you gotta get the hell outta here.’ I know you know what to do with the rest. “

Rome didn’t pick up his pace, just turned around and walked backwards out of the room, obviously keeping his eyes on them until the last moment possible.

Finally alone, Brian dropped on the couch directly into the space that was formerly off-limits. He sagged into the plastic that whined under his weight. Those nights of little sleep coupled with days of constant movement and care for his siblings kept Brian afloat; without seeing the reasons for his pressing need to go fast, Brian sputtered out like the GT-R under too much pressure.

So Dom gave him some time and as much space as being on the couch would allow. “So not meth, you said?” Earning Dom a short swivel of Brian’s head against the back of the couch.

“No, just G’s hustle.”

“Which is?”

Brian cut him a smile that was soft at the edges. “I know you don’t wanna talk about my brothers and sisters.”

No, he didn’t. “What do you think I wanna talk about?”

Brian leaned in close enough to tease and breathed against Dom’s mouth. “I think you don’t wanna talk anymore. A coupla days ago, I said we’d see how it’d go later and I’m thinking later is here. You?”

“Now’s cool. Just fine.”

The next few moments went like this: Brian standing from the couch, reaching back for Dom who took his hand and followed him into the hallway and to the right. Three of four door going to the left were closed; the open one had a low arc of yellow light pouring up the wall, keeping out the full dark in the twins’ room.

Dom’s first impression of Brian’s room was that it was neat and reminded him of the rest of the house. The furniture was similar in style to the outer rooms. There wasn’t much of Brian in the room; the parts that did were sporadically placed: the speaker deck on a night table, the giant web of pictures like constellations covering the bureau mirror, the surf board sandwiched in the corner farthest from the door, a half-opened duffel bag open in front of the closet, a few books with automotive titles, and a framed painting of a car moving down a curved mountainside road high above the ocean.

He didn’t let go of Brian as he made his minor circuit of exploration. Just kept their fingers snarled in a loose tangle, enough to ensure that Brian wasn’t getting away. The room was lived in, sure; it just didn’t say anything definitively about the person that lived in it.

“Use that often?” Dom tapped the surf board’s shiny veneer.

“They got it for me for my birthday and I still haven’t had a chance to try it out.”

“Why not? Too busy with work?”

“Something like that. The day I wanted to use it, the twins showed up so that changed everyone’s plans.” It was the detachment in his voice that put Brian back under the spotlight of Dom’s focus.

Being careful was hard when it wasn’t clear where the triggers were. He had firsthand experience with Kenny Linder that way. For all the sunshine he exuded when he smiled, up close Brian had hard burning edges like Arctic glaciers, and Dom’s willingness to touch—his frank desire for it risked blisters with the contact.

“I feel like that description is the penny version of what happened. Maybe I’ll get the Cineplex version later.” Just an offer without presumed expectation that Brian reveal something to keep them even.

The board’s long body was painted with spirals of blue, white, and silver with black splotches like ink blots stamped over the heart of the helices. Colors that were frequently associated with Brian.

Brian slotted his phone down into the docking station at the top of the speaker deck, music slowly filling the empty spaces of the room.

“Naw, there’s no Cineplex version—no flashing lights, car chases, or 3D. Just me opening the front door with my board under my arm on my twenty-third birthday and almost falling on my face because the twins had been left on the stoop.” He described the scene like it was as common as a stripper jumping out of a birthday cake instead. Possibly something he’d already done at work. Just another birthday surprise.

“D.O.C.—that asshole,” his voice tight and low, a growl riding beneath the name’s utterance. “That asshole left them on the porch with a bag of diapers between them. He put four hundred bucks in an envelope in Twink’s seat and a sorry-ass card with a little blue car on the front in Tank’s that said ‘Happy Birthday. I’m sorry.’”

To just imagine it. Dom didn’t offer any words, taking a note from Brian about using action when words failed, and just listened to the saddest thing he’d ever heard.

He could speak in a way that needed no translation. Grabbed Brian’s chin to make it centered and went in for a kiss. Its effect electric as Brian wound his free arm over Dom’s shoulder and palmed his scalp to gain his leverage to kiss back.

They’d done this before—kissing while standing; exciting before, though now not nearly enough. Then Dom was moving backwards guided by Brian until his legs hit the edge of the mattress. The dull blue comforter trapped beneath him in a tangle as he fell back and Brian came down with him, already shifting up to climb astride his lap. Dom’s favorite position for him.

He’d started researching after the night in the market, once he realized that having Brian pressed up against him so hard and wanting created the same reaction in him. Dom had used one of the computers at the garage for quick study to get the basic points and had cleared the browser history so thoroughly it was just short of having been bleached.

The research clarified his point to Vince: it was just Brian that got him this way. Watching other dudes go at it filled him with the same white hot, spark that set his teeth on edge in Lompoc. Brian was beyond his exception to the rule; he made Dom off the charts crazy and daring and hungry for shit he couldn’t imagine.

And then Brian’s white tee was pulled up and off and Dom was back to having prime time with his flawless sex flushed skin. Presented so freely, of course Dom had to get a taste. Worked his way down from Brian’s mouth to the long hard line over the center of throat and diverted off into the shallow gully behind his collarbones, snagging his teeth on the hard edge to make him gasp and dig his fingers into the grooves of Dom’s biceps.

It all translated so well. Dom spoke English of course, hammered down Italian, and despite being in L.A. only passable dishwater Spanish that had always made his mother shake her head in dismay. But this—the vocabulary he’d been formally introduced to via the internet and immersed in because of prison carried an immediacy in translation. So words like _top, bottom, prep, male g-spot_ , all got context as Brian started riding his hips, ass sliding over his trapped dick like Brian was taking a ride on the metro.

“This,” Brian rocked his hips in a long dirty arc over Dom’s lap, “—feels like fun. I like manual or automatic.” He palmed Dom’s dick. “Sometimes, stick is just more fun to handle.”

Really? Back to those awful car jokes? Dom kicked up his kissing because Brian’s mouth wasn’t busy enough.

Dom bucked his hips up. “Then handle it if you can.”

When he got down to Brian’s chest, he put his hands at ten and two. Considered the broad flat chest as foreign territory with familiar landmarks and positioned himself to travel the roads that he knew. Dom went slow starting from the hollow of Brian’s throat, drew his lips down the smooth line of Brian’s chest with a sprinkle of kisses lighting the way, stopping only when he reached the end where his thumbs were hooked under the hard, flat slopes where tits would be.

No, the lack of tits didn’t stop him, only encouraged him to kiss the skin around the flat satellite of Brian’s rosy nipples, circling his thumb over the velvety edge, and then. Yeah, Brian’s thighs squeezed him tight and he kept going under the new rain of kisses Brian placed across his head and ears.

Not bad, just different. He’d always favored small tits and appreciated a nice ass. By those standards alone, Brian qualified to make him hot. He liked how his hands could hold Brian at the waist but couldn’t span it because he was too solid, his muscles flexing and releasing with each wet seal and suck and hint of teeth.

Dom’s shirt rebelled in coming off, stuck between the pillows and Brian and tacked down by the patches of sweat starting to slick his skin as the heat continued to rise. Once gone, he was left with the heat of skin and the cool of his chain between them.

He dropped his thumbs into the alleys of Brian’s hip and curled his fingers in the back for better steering. Despite their superficial differences, Dom recognized muscle sculpted from functional mechanics and not time dedicated to specific training. Brian had the long, leaner strength that was afforded to rope: maximum tension, complex layers of strength for durability, and flexibility. Oh, that flexibility when Brian dropped lower, the top of his sweats riding down shamelessly, so that it took just an inch for Dom’s finger to slide over the crease, stroke the line working up to getting him more open.

He could keep his hands here for steering, furrowed his fingers in the back to sink into the healthy, healthy meat of Brian’s barely legal top asset.

Knew enough from personal experience and the internet to use his fingers. The small bottle of lube and the condom dropped between them was the permission he needed. So the cap was popped and his fingers got slick and then…and then he could see and feel how much Brian liked his handling from the inside and out.

He went back to Brian’s neck, intent on giving him matching marks over the heavy thrum of his pulse point. But Brian was on his own mission, hand buried inside Dom’s jeans, his fingers clutching him just right and hot as he snapped his wrist to an off-set rhythm.

The threat of being over too soon loomed as hands continued to work—fingers curling around and in, and when Dom felt the heavy pull low in his belly, he pulled back, breaking the seal of their bodies.

Brian’s mouth was beautifully swollen, pink with unspoken promises, and his eyes burned electric blue. “Ready for more?”

Dom didn’t trust his voice, his breath still coming too fast and pulse thundering like a train, but Brian wouldn’t move until Dom said something.

“Yeah, let’s move.” That shock he felt under his hands was the effect of his voice on Brian; he smirked.

Brian moved off him on his knees and then sprawled back on the spread, already shifting into a turn to get on his stomach.

Dom hooked Brian’s ankle before he could go too far and got him to turn back over. “I don’t wanna climb your back.”

Brian leaned forward on his elbows, burning bright. “I think I know what that means—what you’re tryin’ to say.”

Brian had done juvie so he knew what it was like inside: fucking was rarely about love or feelings other than dominance. He’d seen and heard enough inside that he didn’t want to carry any of it over now. If he crossed this line with Brian then it needed to be clean from the start—all feeling and no ghosts in between, just feeding a matching need that only the other could satisfy.

Dom moved forward through the split of his legs. “I wanna see your face. Kiss you. Hear you. Taste you.” His voice a rumble.

Brian led him down by his chain. Didn’t stop until Dom was heavy against him and rocking his dick up into his.

The rest of it went like this: flash-cuts of Dom getting down to the skin and tossing those sweats wherever, his fascination at the smoothness of Brian everywhere—for the job, of course but still hot and made Dom’s hands flow over his skin. The loud snap of the condom locking him in at the base. The slow fall of Brian’s long legs from his flanks to his hips once he finally finished skirting the rim to go inside.

Maintaining the rhythm was easy, Brian arched his back to meet him every time, riding out the smooth swing and thrust of Dom’s hips. A quick prayer of thanks that Brian could go so wide to take all of him. Their silence only broken by the soft musical sphere surrounding them—a lost _fuck_ or _Bri_ or _Dom_ floating off to some unknown place. Buried so deep, knowing that he was doing right, and just lost in the feeling of this heat, of this tight fit, again knowing it was just for him. That Brian was giving him this.

So deep. He was never coming out.

Dark thoughts thick like old motor oil formed here as he churned his hips—deep possessive thoughts. Thoughts like he could be Brian’s Man—an end-all claim, take care of him, be the one to make him look like this, act like this, put that arch in his back. Just hit that spot that made Brian jolt and clamp down, the one that made him break his silence to say _more_.

Finally alone, Dom could let go. Make this become the nice slow fuck that made everything in his life make sense.

He got brave upon hearing Brian’s half-uttered hiss to get his fist in between and started really working Brian. Got his palm slick on his pre-cum and went straight to one-hundred, stroking from base to top, around the head just like he liked, and congratulated himself with a stuttering judder of his hips and Brian clearly saying his name for making it work.

Brian arching up into his weight, giving it all up against Dom’s belly and urging him home with the vice on his dick. Brian tucked his chin, giving him a sleepy lidded nod, muttered, “C’mon,” and Dom let go, knowing Brian could actually take it.

His vision flared white. The last thing he could remember for minutes.

Later when full consciousness was restored and the wet spot resolved, he knotted off the condom and got rid of it in the bathroom attached to Brian’s room.

On the way back to the bed, Brian watched him through fatigue slit eyes. “If you say anything about this being beautiful or amazing, Imma kick you outta my bed.” No less direct despite being more thoroughly worked than a sweatshop conveyer belt.

Dom climbed in on the free side. “Then I won’t say anything and I’ll just let the performance speak for itself.”

“As you should.” Brian shifted around on the bed, trying to get comfortable until he finally fell back into the pillows, putting his back to Dom. “I’ve got one more in me, maybe two, but no more than that tonight. I told you that you could do better than a ten second ride. Be proud of your dick.”

“I…am?” Dom said, frankly surprised.

“Good, but I’ve got work tomorrow and I can’t show up in either place walking funny. It’s bad for business.” Bad for him, too. The chances that Brian wouldn’t look like he’d been standing in the middle of a hurricane the next morning where notched between zero and none.

He had one thing to take care of first.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35432710860/in/dateposted-public/)

Then Dom closed his eyes.

* * *

For the first time in twenty-one months, Dom had slept through the night. He woke up to the warmth of Brian’s shoulder blade as his pillow. Way different that his norm of being used as the pillow instead by Letty and countless girls in between.

Brian remained on his side with his face buried in his pillow; if he’d wanted to move and Dom had kept him there, then Dom would apologize later. He couldn’t decide whether being fucked out to the max or just sleeping with Brian was the catalyst for his full eight hours, as read from the face of his phone.

Brian murmured something into the meat of his pillow, then reached over the side of the bed. When the gold wrapper landed in Dom’s lap, he easily picked up what Brian wanted.

Dom dropped a few pecks where he’d woken up and into the valley that had captured his attention as Brian had danced. “One more for the road. I’m game.”

Brian emerged from the pillow, straightening his body to lie fully lateral, and licked his sleep dry lips. “Gotta stock up for later, just in case there’s another drought.” Just in case everything within the continuum of siblings to jobs got in the way.

Dom got suited up again and tapped Brian’s hip when ready. Brian hooked his leg back and Dom gripped his thigh, angling it over his own so that he could slide back in.

That perfect translation came back when he had Brian turning away, tucking into his pillow with the corner between his teeth biting down, which meant Dom was doing everything right but not enough since Brian could clearly remember that the walls were thin and being loud would be fifty shades of inappropriate.

He was so deep into this that he risked the hot stale wall of morning breathe to get closer and have Brian’s mouth. Something universally acknowledged to take the shine off of beauty queens and the coyote ugly. But Brian though? Put through his paces and driven hard until the wheels fell off and he was still beautiful: hair sleep matted, mouth still swollen, and body bearing Dom’s markers brighter than _you are here_ on a mall map.

They moved slow and sloppily compared to the night before. Still enough to mess up the sheets and fall back asleep for a few minutes.

Then they got up. Brian found those sweatpants that Dom had chucked to West Hell the night before slid them on once Dom was nearly dressed. The music had stopped while they slept, making the house completely silent as they walked through Brian’s door into the hall.

Brian followed him to the door. Making this exit did not feel like starting a walk of shame. There wasn’t an ounce of shame on Dom anywhere. He wove a hand into Brian’s hair and pulled him into a slow filthy kiss as Brian opened the inside door and sunlight poured in behind him.

One of the twins started crying, only to be followed by the other.

Dom pulled back from the taste of Brian’s smile.

Brian leaned on the door. “Back to work, right?”

Dom gave him one last teasing nip on his bottom lip. “Yeah, back to things.” He licked his lip. “Let’s not let later be too long next time.”

The implication evaporated Brian’s lingering sleep haze. “We’ll try for soon and see how that works.”

As Dom stepped outside into the early morning sun that seemed cranked up already to eleven, he caught a bright splash of color from the corner of his eye and looked right. Standing in the middle of the small yard next door dressed in a caftan of every iteration of bright standing five feet nothing and cocking an eyebrow so hard at him that it could’ve put Let’s to shame stood the infamous Mrs. Hobbs and a small yipping dog of some breed prefaced by the word teacup.

The look she gave him over the tops of her thin wire frames supported the rumor that she had her cops and her priest on speed-dial. If she only knew what he’d just done, then she was free to call them.

Dom gave her a small polite nod and she stiffened like he’d done a bad thing.

He got in the Charger, mind already replaying each second of those very good things. “Lady, you got no idea,” he said turning the engine over and drove off with a promise of getting coffee to fulfill.

Already, he hoped sooner was closer than he’d hoped.

 


	9. chapter nine (this is what it feels like)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smooth and rough bits of a new relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.
> 
> Title from The Glitch Mob's [Between Two Points](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iaisDkR8Qg).
> 
> A/N 1: Music is very important in this chapter. I’ve embedded links to the songs on YouTube where they appear in the fic. I highly recommend giving these songs a listen when they’re referenced. Eventually, I’ll have a playlist compiled for the story on the series page. 
> 
> [handsome boy modeling school- i've been thinking](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eUPxgigVgWc&list=RDeUPxgigVgWc)
> 
> [banks- this is what it feels like](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=naMvm2DUKiE)
> 
> A/N 2: Dom is still working through his feelings for Brian and their relationship. So bear with him being resolute about some situations and shifty about others. He's still getting adjusted.
> 
> A/N 3: Korpi is the name of one of the guys that Brian and Rome race in 2F2F for the muscle cars. 
> 
> A/N 4: Here's a warning for situational homophobia. 
> 
> A/N 5: Thank you for your patience. I began this section as soon as Chapter 8 was posted, though since then I have moved to a new town, started my clerkships, passed my high stakes exam, and burned through the few days of summer that I had. The updates will keep coming slow and steadily. 
> 
> As always, concrit is appreciated and enjoy!

Three weeks was nothing but a blink in the span of the average life. For Dom, the weeks had spiraled into a braided paradox, composed of equal strands of chaos and pleasure.

Because right now, he was ten miles out from Coachella heading towards Thermal, gaining miles on their target, but Dom’s thoughts were squarely in L.A.

Inside the Civic was silent, save for the whir of the engine, running hard but cool, and the occasional _click-click-chirp_ of the walkie talkie. His head was the opposite: buzzing with the high definition experiences of being pulled in multiple directions, parceled out more and more to those around him.

The radio came alive, static murmuring in the background with Leon’s voice at the center. “Ten minutes,” he said, followed by a click that killed the static.

Normally, ten minutes out and Dom’s mind would be a narrow tunnel of focus, barreling through the seconds until the target was reached. Now though, the solid wall of darkness created by the desert became a canvas—a screen in which the events of the three weeks prior were projected.

Chaos was the constant state of activity that kept him busy over these last few weeks. He blamed the market’s boom on Mia and Han, their devious minds together having figured out how to make delicious food seem even more delicious. Race Wars was less than four weeks away and they were seeing every kind of job stream through the front door: from mom and pop jobs to new mods, fresh paint and the occasional installation of new subwoofers with enough bass to make the cars need new shocks.

A string of good tips had put them here on their second trip to Thermal in two weeks. Pushing the boundaries of the rules that Dom himself had set to keep the heat off them, but the haul was too good to pass up. A big retail chain was in its final death throes, due to mismanagement at the top, so the merchandise had to go fast and cheap to recoup the losses of the bosses’ poor decisions.

Leon had gotten a tip where to catch the semis before they took the 10 to Arizona, destined for parts unknown. They knew the stretch between Riverside and Thermal where CHP was at a minimum and the long miles of darkness reigned, aided by illegal radar, which helped to avoid the temporary blindness of looking down the long barrel of a cop’s Maglite.

Rico would be waiting when the freighter reached Santo Domingo and both sides of the family, here and there, would be just a little bit richer—that much closer to the pursuit of the All-American Dream.

Time wasn’t an issue this time. Dom didn’t have to worry about making excuses for not being able to drop by Brian’s place. Brian’s bookended schedule kept him busy; a little less now that Suki and Giselle were splitting babysitting the twins with Mia and Jesse and Harry’s was slowing down now that the rush to order parts was over and the install and test phase had begun.

So Brian got to come back to the garage and the GT-R. He and Dom were a good team, feeding off each other’s ideas and putting new life into the GT-R—in more ways than one. Brian had worked on other cars waiting for service, helping them to cut down the number of _job-jobs_ so they could shift back to the fun jobs. Asking Brian about Race Wars was steadily on his back burner, a thing he meant to bring up but kept pushing back as soon as they rubbed elbows, laughed, or broke concentration under the hood.

“Five minutes,” Leon said over the radio, initiating Dom’s reflex to sink his foot deeper on the gas.

Dom’s pendulum of thoughts swung between three distinct points when he thought about Brian. Each point in succession more pleasurable than the last: there was sleeping, _fucking_ , and sex.

From that first night when they’d _slept_ together, Dom had become reacquainted with the full embrace of sleeping. That first stretch of an uninterrupted eight hours where he pinned Brian to one spot and hogged the covers wasn’t a passing occurrence. Just like an April shower preceded the storm and the storm with the flood, that night gave way to a nearly continuous string of nights to follow. It was always better with Brian, of course. But at home, it was better than the dismal four and lucky two that followed a long mid-early AM break in his sleep cycle.

Most nights, Dom didn’t remember his dreams. When he did, there was always less of the darker corners of his subconscious coming to the surface, less cold sweat and gasping breath, and more memories and extrapolations of this and that— _fantasies_ , the real stuff dreams were made of.

When he and Brian weren’t sleeping or working on the GT-R or miscellaneous cars in between, they were hard at work progressing through every stage in the broad continuum of _fucking_ and sex; two very distinct activities in Dom’s mind.

Dom had been _fucking_ since he was seventeen—or fifteen, according to what he told Vince, to once again plant his flag before his best friend. For Dom, _fucking_ was always fast. Never any other option when it went down.

It was messy like coming in his jeans from the quick handy Brian gave him as they were inspecting the engine of an older than dirt Ford Escort in the last bay, far from the door but not out of sight. Messy like rubbing off on Brian when he followed him back to Harry’s so he could lock up for the night and return the truck. Sinful like dessert: giving up everything desired in a brief moment—memorable but not sustaining.

_Fucking_ was made for tight spaces, like fitting him and Brian over the dropped driver’s seat in the Charger where he forgot to lock the garage door again where Brian rode him with dedication of mastering a new craft.

But sex? It lived inside its own spectrum—fast or slow; there was always dedication to it. Much like racing, it had a definitive start and end where each of them finished; always with a specific target in mind. An investment like money in the bank. Sex was done at the market where Dom got Brian positioned on the corner of the old desk holding his long legs up around Dom’s waist and chased each rock _forward and up_ with the taste of _tres leches_ from his lips. It was the experience of being completely alone for hours and hours, with the knowledge that censoring the volume wasn’t needed, and that no matter how hard Dom tried, the springs on Brian’s bed wouldn’t whine. It was the time spent kissing lazily on the couch in his office, laughing in deep gut bursts of pairs and series less than five that had no preset destination, leading them wherever they wanted eventually. Taking them to places where Dom got an extra dose of bravery to taste Brian for the first time and found himself greedy for it.

“Two minutes,” Leon called again.

Dom put those thoughts away. He wished for a cold shower to kill the heat that was starting low and would be distracting while driving carefully and corralling their prey. Eyes ahead towards the darkness and the expected flash of red taillights at any second and Dom had a flash of Brian riding shotgun, spear gun at the ready, waiting to fire and hook on. The vision struck him at his core. A hidden desire brought to light.

A flash of red ahead and Dom grabbed his radio, “Let’s get ready to break.” He heard the confirmation from the other four and kept eating the distance until there was less than a tenth of a mile between them. “Break,” he ordered.

Then his dream of Brian riding beside him blew away like the desert dust beneath their treads as the first shots were taken.

* * *

Getting control of the semi always happened the same. Vince possessed the perfect balance of menace and persuasion to get the driver to comply. After the driver was cuffed and blindfolded, the trip to Thermal was short and the drop facilitated in what passed for Thermal’s railroad district. The cargo was set to be transported down a seldom used Southern Pacific line that went into Mexico then routed to the Gulf Coast.

The railroad and shipping parts of the cargo’s journey occurred through the help of Dom’s other Dominican cousin, Tego, who worked closely with his Pop’s former contacts to smuggle and track the cargo from the continent to the Caribbean. Though Tego and Rico couldn’t stand each other, they were integral players in keeping the goods moving and the money flowing.

Back when the idea of doing the jackings seemed like adrenaline daydreams, Dom had considered the set-up and the players to be involved: his team, of course his cousins in the DR, leaving just transport unaccounted for. During a brief fling with Jessica Tran, Johnny Tran’s sister, he’d considered approaching Johnny about forming a tentative partnership. Something stopped him though; possibly sensing the end of the infatuation and the impending return to his side of tracks that gave him the instinct to let their connection turn to dust. Ultimately, he’d made a good decision in the beginning to not do business with the Trans. Dom and the Team were into low level shit compared to the Trans who were generations deep into running Koreatown.

The last responsibility of Dom’s people after getting the semi to the warehouse was reviewing the manifest and making sure everything listed was the same in the back.

Dom took the manifest and walked through the tight aisles of plastic wrapped goods, moving down the list quickly until he came to the second to last items. Since the cargo was a mixture of items set for a fire sale, the haul was more diverse than the usual collection of electronics they jacked. There was a rule that along with the money they got first dibs on taking a reasonable cut of the merchandise. Usually, the money was sufficient, though as Dom compared the second to last items on the manifest, he decided that he would invoke that privilege this time.

He whistled with two fingers, a signal to Vince that he needed him in the back. Another way to keep themselves safe from identification.

A double chirp came over the radio, Leon’s signal that the money was secured and counted.

When Vince joined Dom in the back of the trailer, Dom immediately handed him the flashlight and the manifest and pulled out the blade he’d gotten from his Pop once upon a time. He cut through the cocoon of plastic until the glossy face of the box was revealed.

Dom pulled one box free and turned it around to read the full specs of the product. Once done, he grabbed a second one.

Vince looked the box over, flipping it around to inspect all angles of the glossy façade. “You sure you wanna give this to Blondie? I mean, I know most people do research and stuff before they give kids things to make sure they’re safe.”

Dom hadn’t thought about chairs being safe. He certainly hadn’t expected Vince to be the one to point out this possibility. So Dom conceded, “I’ll have Jess look ‘em up before I give them to him.” Vince agreed with a stiff nod.

Dom grabbed the two boxes, securing them beneath his arms and jumped down from the trailer’s mouth. Vince followed after rolling down the door. Dom could feel the weight of Let’s questioning look as he moved towards his Civic. If she asked when they got back, he’d have an answer for her. Until then, he dropped the boxes in the trunk and signaled it was time to go.

Vince escorted the driver back to the cab and took off for the split point. The four of them following behind the semi bare of its trailer. As they formed up to pull out, the last sight behind them was the railroad workers hoisting the trailer into position on the cargo bed, now destined for Mexico in under fifteen minutes.

* * *

Once they wiped down the Civics and put them back in storage, they collected Vince’s Maxima from a nearby lot and took the long drive home. The discomfort of the crowded fit was made bearable by the inevitable division of the money at home.

They got back to the house in the hours that were considered too early to be awake. When Vince popped the trunk, it was Leon who stepped in to carry the second box for Dom to the Beast’s garage.

Leon turned the box around under the glow of the two long tubes of industrial lights. Now the pictures looked more impressive but Dom still circled back to Vince’s note of caution. The contraption in the box was a Transformer-like futuristic high chair, capable of folding into seating and feeding stations that could grow with the size of the kid. Compared to the most basic model that the twins played musical chairs with, the pair of high chairs that Dom had snagged off the truck were as sophisticated as a Lamborghini Countach.

“These are _nice_ ,” Leon said, slotting the second box into the Charger’s trunk beside the first. “I read its specs and even I kinda want one. That setup is crazy though. It seems like the only things it doesn’t do are get the kid into college and babysit.”

Dom slammed the trunk, secure in knowing that getting these high chairs to Brian provided additional incentive for Dom to see him. “Right? As soon as I saw the manifest and peeped the box, I knew that these chairs had to cost a grip each. To get two of them--” He expelled a low empathizing breath. “—really makes the difference between the haves and have nots.”

Leon bobbed his head absently, a habit heralding him having something to say but suffering from the indecision in how to say it.

Dom sank into a relaxed sprawl against the Charger, his loose stance belying the heavy pull of sleep and a desire to check in with Brian before he was sacked out for the rest of the very short-short night that remained.

“I see you’ve got some heavy thoughts, so let’s bring ‘em out.” Dom encouraged with a forthcoming curl of his hand, inviting Leon to chill out beside him.

Leon lumbered over and instead of leaning like Dom on the Charger, he crossed his arms over the roof and dipped his chin as he began to speak thoughtfully. “Naw, nothing’s heavy on my mind, just a coupla thoughts.”

“Which are what, Leon?”

Never one to be caught without a toothpick, Leon flipped the ends between his lips and sandwiched it in the corner of his mouth before he spoke tentatively. “Maybe you wanna think about how Brian will act if you give those chairs to him. I mean, they’re really nice gifts, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t know if he’d be cool with you springing them on him. His situation is hard but people have trouble taking charity, and I don’t think he’ll be too happy if you try to offer him those. We all got soft spots when it comes to our pride.”

“Well, I’ll think of something to tell him, because the twins need them. And me giving him—or them the chairs doesn’t make this charity.” Dom countered, remembering what Brian said when they went to breakfast that first night: he had bills to pay. Having seen the size of his family, Dom fully agreed with him. “Plus, friends give each other gifts.”

Leon understood the exchange of gifts between friends well. He and the others lived in the house at 1327 since forever without having to pay rent or anything else; the final gift from his Pop was giving each a home that would always be open to them.

“Yeah, that’s true but _you_ giving Brian a gift is different than _me_ giving you one or you giving me one, and we both know it.”

Shit. Suddenly, heat poured into Dom’s chest and the whispers to sleep disappeared with the pummeling thunder of his bounding pulse.

In Dom’s mind, Brian occupied a unique but non-singular space; he filled in the gaps between the people closest to Dom and positioned himself at a point that created a new center for Dom’s focus. Like driving fast enough to never get caught was Dom’s thing; Brian was Dom’s in an indefinable way that couldn’t be shared or communicated.

Leon’s kept going, looking more comfortable than Vince had when they’d had this conversation in the garage a few weeks ago. Completely aware of Dom’s spiraling thoughts and rising panic. Compared to Vince, Leon was actively trying to keep Dom calm. “Naw, naw, Dom. Just chill, okay. I mean, this is fine with me. Cuz as your friend, I know you and you’ve been on your shit lately in a way that you ain’t ever been before, and it’s been good to see. Like you got some clarity or somethin’. Less anger in you, man, which ain’t good for nobody. So I can co-sign the hell outta whateva you got goin’ with Brian. He’s a cool dude and I know he’d be good on the team.”

Dom should have been used to Leon sneaking up on him. Whether he dropped truth bombs or imparted unexpected wisdom, Leon had a frank and habitual way of rendering Dom speechless.

“How’d you know?”

Then Leon started laughing so hard, he bowed in half. He held up a finger, asking for a minute to get himself together. “Dom, I’ve known you since we were kids, so I know you pretty damn well. And, Dom, you’ve got a serious thing for gettin’ play in the shop. How many times did we catch you and Let finishing up or in the middle of it?” He snorted once and tried to sober up. “There’s only one way you can interpret this gesture--” he cupped his hand and started jerking his fist. “—without power tools goin’ in the background. Definitely only one thing is happenin’ when you’re sharing your air with someone else and your hands are empty. The only thing to say after that: was it good?”

Dom laughed as he admitted, “I couldn’t have done better myself.”

“I’m happy for you, honestly.” Leon placed a hand over his heart and the other palm up towards the sky. “Last thing Imma say about any of this is that you need to tell Let before she finds out.” Leon stopped Dom from turning away to scowl. “No, hear me out: I know this is new between you and him. But the last thing you want is Letty thinking that your new thing was happening while you were still together. You need to assure her that this is an _after_ thing. She deserves that much.”

He knew Leon was right about talking to Letty, but Dom was still reluctant to speak to anyone about what was going on between him and Brian. Even talking to Vince and Leon, who had approached him and had all but given him their blessings and acceptance was still treading a line that Dom was uncomfortable with exposing. Brian told him to talk to Mia; he still hadn’t done it and would wait as long as possible before he had that conversation with her.

Talking to Letty though—just the thought filled him with a cold trepidation, not out of fear of Letty’s reaction; Dom knew what to expect from Letty which ran the gamut of fiery anger to shocked sadness just because.

Each time he was forced to talk about what he and Brian were doing, Dom experienced this dissonance that placed him out of step within his own world. A fear that if he continued to poke at the last few weeks and the experiences embraced then he’d find himself coming out of a fevered dream, savagely grasping to hold on, only to see it fade between his fingers like the vision of Brian riding beside him in the Charger.

Dom let Brian tease him about his cross—his big faith—which he had in tremendous supply but it was not inexhaustible; as much as he dared, he didn’t want to stress it too much.

So Dom offered up a compromise. “I will but not tonight.”

Leon drummed his fist over the hood in a light rhythm. “Sure, I know you’ll do the right thing. Just don’t take too long.” He rapped his knuckles one more time before pulling away, dropping his hands down into his pockets. “In the spirit of honesty, I’ve gotta admit that Brian’s a cool dude, and his brother—the one with the mouth—is hilarious. Just watchin’ him go at it with Vince, I mean, either of ‘em, could keep me laughin’ all day. So I kinda get it.”

“Get what, Leon?”

Now scratching the back of his head, Leon didn’t look away as he continued with a curious grin. Just faced Dom head on. “I’m sayin’ I get why you would hook up or whatever with Brian. Like, I thought about it—said maybe after a few beers or less, cuz he’s pretty enough to be my one damn exception— I’d try it out. See what the fuss was about. So, y’know if you guys go back to just bein’ friends or somethin’, then I’d definitely be willing to be the rebound thing. Just for a good time between friends.”

Despite being known for his constant chill demeanor, Leon possessed an adventurous streak that ran in circles different from Dom’s. Where Dom chased the thrill of adrenaline, Leon went after the new thing that he would only try once. Leon admitting that Brian could be added to the column of new things to try put Dom in the awkward position of simultaneously agreeing with him and wanting to stare him down until the idea was blanked not only from his mind but existence.

Leashing his anger with a careful grip, Dom said, “I wouldn’t get my hopes up and start waitin’.” Because he and Brian were good and Leon’s little joke provided extra incentive for them to stay that way.

“Trust me, I won’t be.” Leon’s expression shifted briefly back into seriousness. “Though I gotta say I’m just a little bit offended that I couldn’t be your one exception. I mean, I’m fine as hell. Got girls throwin’ themselves at me, a few guys too, but you didn’t even blink.”

Dom pinched the bridge of his nose and gave the spotted garage floor a long look as Leon started howling again. “Leon, you’re like my brother. So me blinkin’ at you or anything else is about as likely as me or you walking on the moon anytime soon, so no.”

“That’s cold, Dom.”

“Yeah, cold it may be and the girls can stroke your ego and everything else by callin’ you fine but you just ain’t…”

“Brian.” Leon finished. “He’s a pretty. Naw, let me be real: he’s beautiful.”

“He is.” Dom agreed and welcomed the return of being on neutral ground. He pushed off the Charger’s door, moving towards the switch for the overhead lights. “It’s already morning, let’s not waste the rest of the night that we’ve got with this _chisme_.”

Leon followed him out the door, flicking his toothpick into the reaches of the dark. “True, true. I gotta hurry up and get my beauty sleep before V starts snoring like a train goin’ through the mountains.”

Dom engaged the lock on the door. “I always thought he sounded more like a chainsaw.”

“He always sounds like _somethin’_ until Let puts a sock in his mouth.” Leon replied, falling into step as they traveled down worn paths in the grass.

They laughed the entire way back to the house.

* * *

For the rest of the night, Dom slept in short, brutal tracks of sleep. A major departure from his new routine that set him on an earlier schedule of making coffee and slipping out the front door, leaving behind the disharmonious symphony of snores from upstairs.

He shot off a message to Mia as he sat at a too-long traffic light midway between home and Brian’s place.

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The drive across town was light by L.A. standards, nearly a wheel-smacking nightmare but most other cities’ standards; ultimately the perfect funnel for Dom’s frustration. The way over was easier now, purely memorized as a result of Dom taking every available opportunity to drop by Brian’s place when he could.

The only character quirk that Brian’s block shared with Dom’s was the number of cars still lingering along the side of the road or resting quietly inside narrow concrete driveways. The block was wide awake for an early summer morning. Along the sidewalks, some of the neighbors moved—mostly retirees walking the smooth pavement in packs of sweat suit wearing speed walkers.

Dom fit the Charger in the tight space in front of the house and unfolded from the seat, immediately catching the eyes of the neighbor across the street. Like Rome, the neighbor had cheek bones so high that they gave the impression that he was constantly smiling. The broad brim of his Panama hat didn’t hide the narrowing of his eyes as he assessed Dom, who granted wasn’t dressed to impress, didn’t look like he was on the scene to start anything.

So Dom’s brief acknowledging nod was returned by the older man far more sternly than expected while holding a pair of pruning shears and rocking a tropical print shirt that was probably one of Tommy Bahamas’s finest.

Dom left Nosy Neighbor Number Two to return to pruning his roses by rounding the nose of the Charger before he could be intercepted and possibly stampeded by the small geriatric herd coming up the sidewalk. He entered the gate and crossed up the walk with a bounce in his step. The eagerness not at all disturbed by Nosy Neighbor Two still surveilling him from across the street.

Maneuvering his hand through the security bars, he knocked on the wooden door. The sound of a heavy engine approaching behind him had him turning to follow the sound which was accompanied by the sight of a dark tank-like SUV pulling up in front of Nosy Neighbor Number One’s place. He knocked again as the grumbling engine went silent after which the doors opened to reveal its driver and its passenger.

The driver and the passenger reminded him of Giselle and Letty in a way. Even from afar, Dom could tell they were the type of women who could handle themselves without blinking; the brunette with the thick shoulders and thighs to match had probably choked out a bed partner or two when they’d gone downtown on her—accidental or not.

The blonde passenger cast him a small smile that even his sluggish early morning brain was quick enough to interpret. Like the gardening neighbor, she too got a small nod as Dom waited for the door to open. His impatience to get inside was only settled by the understanding that it was still too early to be considered polite.

Like Dom, the pair of women were providing an early morning wakeup call which was answered far quicker than his. Nosy Neighbor Number One aka Mrs. Hobbs, Chief of the Neighborhood Watch, opened the door to greet the pair with hugs and cheek kisses and a rocket-sized thermos of what was probably coffee. Her mood so jovial that she even spared Dom a friendly glance despite the high flung eyebrow capping off the look.

She called back inside the house in a voice that belied her small stature, “Luke, you’re the only man I know who thinks he can leave two beautiful women waiting and think there won’t be consequences.”

The recipient of the scolding made his appearance and seemed to fold in half to kiss Mrs. Hobbs’s cheek. “Three beautiful women, Ma,” he said as he straightened up to eclipse the remainder of the doorway. “And they know I’m worth the wait.”

Dom caught the impressive but loving eye roll the older woman gave her son before she pushed him out of the door. “Take him, please,” she told the women, “Riley and Elena, you have my permission to kick his butt if he makes you wait again.”

“Thanks, Ma’am,” replied the brunette who was either Riley or Elena.

Luke was a big mountain of man, possessing both size and muscle greater than Dom who was now present on the dude’s radar after a cursory sweep of the block. Despite being upstream of the midday temperature peak, Dom could tell that Luke was already sweating and poised for action in his dark blue track suit. And apparently the eyebrow fling was hereditary, too, though mama’s was far more impressive, because her holding a little teacup dog didn’t look nearly as ridiculous as Luke doing so with the large baseball mitts he called hands.

The dog barked then, having finally noticed Dom. “Good, Cujo.” Luke gave the dog a gentle stroke that obscured the dog inside his palm. “That’s right, boy. Gotta keep that guard up.”

Rome hadn’t been exaggerating about the fervor of the Neighborhood Watch.

Finally, the locks flipped on the inside door and was swung open to reveal Tej.

“A little early.” The middle O’Conner brother said leaning against the frame.

“Hadn’t noticed.”

Tej pushed open the steel security door for Dom to enter and waved in the direction of next door.

“Sup, Luke. I’ll be around about one to start my shift.”

Cujo barked sharply once, replying for Luke who stoically nodded before addressing the women waiting for him. “Alright, Ladies, time to put boots to asses.” He followed after them and folded into the backseat of the urban tank. Dom shut the door as it pulled away from the curve.

The house was appropriately quiet for the early hour but the stillness struck Dom as misplaced in a house that was much like his own—bursting at the seams with activity and permanently set on a volume of loud.

He tracked Tej’s course back to the big table where he sat down in the chair that Dom had become accustomed to thinking of as his and poured out a monster bowl of cereal. The off-brand assortment of sugar-fortified grains and miniaturized marshmallow shapes rattled down into the bowl as Tej shook the box, only pausing to extend the box towards Dom in a clear offer to share.

Dom shook his head. “Naw, I’m good.” Unlike Vince and Letty, Dom had never had a high tolerance for junk food. Maybe it was growing up with his Mami’s cross-cultural culinary wizardry that had spoiled him on eating overly processed junk.

Tej was the one O’Conner sibling that Dom had been around the least. Like Mia, Tej was usually buried elbow deep in his school work and miscellaneous jobs that made up the O’Conner household’s hustle, meaning that Dom’s visits usually coincided with Tej’s absences or his departures back to the USC campus. Tej possessed the same infinite supply of smartass sass that ran through the O’Conner line truer than any genetic feature. The kid, which he was compared to Dom and Brian’s collective miles of life experience, was smart as hell; a genius according to Brian who was ridiculously proud of his brother for being a college man and actually on track to make something of his life.

So the pair of them hanging out around the quiet living room had the makings for awkward conversation.

“Y’know even though Bri and Rome keep crazy hours, the rest of us aren’t actually on that 7/11 schedule.” Tej said as he plucked out holiday themed marshmallows from the mountain of sugar.

“Didn’t think I needed a reservation. Bri said to just stop by.”

Tej crunched away on the cereal candy. “Sure, we’re not that fancy. It’s just, y’know, awkward showing up before the drool is dry on the pillow and the crust is outta the corner of the eyes.”

The kid had a point and Dom knew that he could be _enthusiastic_. Mia had been hinting at the same thing in less direct terms over the last couple of weeks. That conversation that Brian suggested he have with her after the barbecue still hadn’t happened and probably wouldn’t if Dom had his way. But that didn’t slow Dom’s steam or Mia’s determination to make him talk.

“I guess I take broad invitations seriously.” He started walking towards the long hallway, judging the conversation to be at an end; he really should’ve expected otherwise from an O’Conner kid.

After an audible swallow, Tej called out from behind him. “From what I hear, you’ve been here so often, we should be charging you rent. But you bring stuff like this,” he lazily pointed down to his bowl with his spoon, “so we won’t start applying daily charges.”

Quickly Dom shifted into Tej’s space, close enough that the significant height difference became an issue and forced Tej to look him in the eye. “You know what you just implied about your brother, right?” The kid was smart as hell by all accounts but to talk shit about his brother, and certainly to do it in front of Dom, was not going to end well for him.

Tej swallowed hard but didn’t back down. “Bruh, I’m not sayin’ that in a bad way at all. I’m sayin’ everyone in this house has a hustle and we all contribute, so I’m just lettin’ you know the rules if you’re gonna be joining us: you contribute, that’s all.” Then he slid his eyes back down to his bowl. “Maybe, you should think about your own perceptions if that’s the first place your mind went. Just an FYI. Maybe even check that temper cuz I know that you’re not angry at me and certainly not at my brother. So check the pulse on your anger when you feel it rising.”

There was an indictment buried inside Tej’s gaze, as if he was baiting a line and waiting for Dom to take hold; a move that Dom knew instinctually to be the wrong one. The remark about his temper possessed the sharpness of a deliberate jab. A realization brought to light: Tej knew about Dom’s past and where his temper had led him.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Dom replied as he knotted his arms over his chest, standing in a fortified stance. “My temper’s in check now.”

Tej was no nonsense in a fashion that was reminiscent of Mia. Smaller in dimensions than his brothers, he was a little like the teacup dog next door full of big voice and packing a smaller bite. “Cool, do that. Good to know.” Tej picked up his bowl of cereal again and stirred the spoon through the sugary rainbow-infused milk. “I was serious about each of us having a hustle. Hell, even Twink and Tank got a hustle going for Harry, so it’s not like me telling you the rules is putting you in the middle of some kind of shakedown.”

The little white house normally bustled with activity. Not so much a schizophrenic motion, more alike the continuous wind and whir of cogs in a machine, each moving together and separately to complete a unique function that served to propel the entire body forward. Through careful observation and clues dropped in conversation, Dom had deduced the hustle of each: Brian and Rome danced during the week while Brian maintained a full-time gig with Harry at the Racer’s Edge and Rome part-timed it at a junk yard in South Central; Suki’s eye for design made her a bootleg genius—whether it was a dress that broke the internet or a new design in lines of white, blue and silver for the GT-R, she could bring it to life. Tej used those computer skills to provide the hood connection for discount cable, digital streaming, and redefined the concept of video on demand. His gig with Sweaty and Scowling next door was new intel, which Dom could process later. As for Giselle, as far as Dom could tell, the former youngest of the O’Conner siblings was the head of a middle school mafia that benefited from Giselle’s creativity and still kept her older brothers guessing. Even Twink and Tank did their part by backing up Brian’s gig with Harry.

Despite the bare knuckle work ethic, there still wasn’t enough money coming through the doors of the little white house. Those bills that Brian mentioned way back when it was only him and Dom sitting across from each other in a quiet diner coalesced into a black hole that ate away at the collective pool of profits. Which made looking at the bare façade of the blue and white plastic and steel high chair just another point in Dom’s favor, justifying sharing the haul from the night before become less about gift giving and closer to lessening an economic burden.

Tej shrugged his way through downing a large spoonful of unidentifiable rainbow crunch. “Anyway, enjoy making your house call. There’s more cereal if you want some. If anyone needs me, I’ll be next door hooking up Mrs. Hobbs’s HBO.”

“I thought she was too much of a holy roller for the five finger discount.”

“Dom, get on the Game of Thrones tip, bruh. No one’s too holy for winter is coming and dragons.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I’ll take your word for it.”

Faced with a mutual dismissal, Dom vacated the dining room and navigated through the ordered mess of furniture, hastily kicked off shoes, backpacks, and baby toys that booby-trapped the route to the back hallway where doors were mostly closed and silent.

His knock on Brian’s closed door was greeted with continued silence. So he cracked the door open and immediately spied the giant lump curled up on the side of the bed closest to him.

“Brian,” he called softly before stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

This time, the answer was a vague wave from a solitary free corner of Brian’s blanket nest and a mutter that sounded vaguely like, “Thirty more minutes.”

Dom didn’t say anything after that; instead he stepped around the edge of the bed to get to the other side and stripped down to his tank and boxers. There was just enough of the blue comforter remaining for Dom to get comfortable, the previous surge of adrenaline that got him up and moving having burned down to the organic filter, leaving sleep as his only option since he wasn’t planning to wake Brian up.

If Dom lifted the edges of Brian’s blanket cocoon, then he’d see Brian sprawled inside like a well fed jungle cat. Despite Brian’s lack of need to sleep, he could still drop into the deepest layers of sleep within seconds of shutting his eyes. Stranger still was his ability to have conversations, sometimes even getting up and doing things, such as checking on Twink and Tank, without remembering doing so by the time he actually woke up.

Beneath the sheets, Dom heard his name uttered. “Dom,” Brian said, followed by an indecipherable series of murmurs that dropped off into silence.

As Dom lay back into the beat up pillow, his gaze was torn between the high peak that he was sure was Brian’s shoulder and the white spackle on the ceiling. Moments like this he missed his Pop most: when questions that roamed beneath his skin hummed awake whenever he looked at Brian and gave him pause. Each moment with him made Dom feel something different. He wanted his father’s advice—his guidance mostly, because Dom wasn’t sure where he was going with Brian but clutched the certainty of liking its heading and vowed to continue to keep going nevertheless.

His eyelids drooped at the thought of the small reserve of shame that lingered. A cosmic weight of _what-if_ that questioned what his Pop would say about all of this. Optimism said his Pop would have empathized with Dom’s show of effort to get close to Brian. Would have shared his own war stories of wooing his Mami across thousands of miles and facing the iron fortitude of traditional relatives hyped up on Catholic resolve head on. And maybe his Pop would define the difference between attraction and obsession which were merging into an inseparable mesh when Dom’s thoughts drifted to Brian.

Dom’s final thought before falling asleep: the specter of Brian riding shotgun with him across a black highway and the certainty that riding together was a cornerstone of their future. Then Dom closed his eyes.

A few hours plus thirty minutes later, he woke to the familiar position of being draped over Brian’s side who was still rolled up like a human burrito though unwound just enough to allow one of Dom’s arms to snake around him under the covers.

Before now, Dom had never been content to just sleep with his bed partner; not even Letty got to share his bed without some tacit promise of sex involved. Now, Dom drifted on the low ebb and flow of drowsiness without feeling the need to commit to a definitive course of action.

His eyes opened a fraction wider as Brian began to stir, turning beneath the rope of his arm until he was oriented towards Dom and sleepily slid a hand over Dom’s forearm and up the warm trail of his bare arm.

“Thought I dreamed you up.” Brian muttered sleepily, eyes still closed and half-buried beneath the sheets. “— time did you get here?”

“Early.” Dom’s voice was thick with sleep and rough like steel wool when he answered.

Brian continued his sleepy exploration of Dom’s skin. There was no rush to get up yet, so Dom tightened his hold, drawing Brian closer by the hip which brought the brush of Brian’s morning hard on against Dom’s. Dom smirked as he now possessed a skill set to handle these particular pair of problems.

He mimicked Brian’s exploration by dropping his hand over the elastic neck of Brian’s boxers and down the broad plain of his thigh and then back and over the warm curve of his ass where his hand began a slow knead and furrow, triggering Brian’s reflex to shift his leg forward. Dom trapped it beneath his knees and arched his hips up to give Brian the signal to slide against him.

There were no points for smoothness here. The lead blanket of sleepiness kept their pace too slow and off-rhythm, though not bad enough to keep them from moving together, brushing dicks together with each small sliding shift of hips. They rocked together slow and steady until Dom felt Brian stutter and stall against him. The warmth spreading across his belly forced his fingers to root deeper into Brian’s skin as he reeved up to catch up, but Brian’s hand on his chest stopped him.

Brian put steel behind his hand, forcing Dom back and over onto his back. “Gotta start the morning off right,” Brian emerged fully from his sleep nest to sprawl over Dom who could have easily pulled him down for brush their mouths together. “Gotta get that important thing first.”

Dom folded his arms behind his head. “Don’t say it.” The warning lacked fire behind it. Just hoping Brian would steer clear of being corny so early.

Of course, Brian wouldn’t back down, no matter how terrible the joke. He tsked and licked his lips. “Dom, you gotta know breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Can’t start the day without protein.” The smartass gleam in his eyes skated over his words.

“No more jokes for you.” Beneath the sheets, his dick twitched, solely interested in the loose stroke that was stirring it up from root to tip and lower to skirt the grooves of his sack.

“Agreed.” Then Brian was inside his kingdom of sheets again, the only difference being the warm, wet invitation he extended to Dom’s dick to join him.

Dom could fuck in every iteration like it was his job. He could eat pussy from sun up to sun down without his tongue growing tired but Brian’s head game had him beat by miles. He could die in this moment with just Brian’s lips wrapped around him and feel satisfied. Then Brian added tongue, leaping over the kittenish steps of foreplay to taste him fully and suck and suck until Dom’s lids rolled down and he cast a hand out to blindly feel for Brian and assist in directing the action over his dick. Brian’s talent precluded the necessity of assistance. He simply tracked the bob and slide beneath the comforter with his hand and the transition of warm to cool with his dick.

Suddenly, the suction picked him up and had Dom tightening up his muscles that had been let loose to swing into the ridiculous humidity of Brian’s mouth. “Bri--Brian.” His only indication of warning for the impending meltdown from his dick. It was the responsible thing to do.

A hard curl of tongue and hard suck left Dom boneless like warm liquid had replaced his bones as Brian returned to the surface, a satisfied smirk gracing his mouth.

Dom peeled back his eyes one at a time to take him in. “You tryin’ to burrow to China under that nest of blankets?” Later, he’d realize the little duck and cover act kept him ignorant to whether Brian spat or swallowed. An exploration he’d gladly submit to another day.

“No, I’m just tryin’ to block out your snoring.” Brian cracked back and turned over to check the time on his phone.

“I don’t snore.” Dom defended himself.

“Um, yeah, I’m sure you could double as the final buzzer at a Clippers game.”

“Ouch, at least give me the Lakers, Bri.”

“You can have both since you’re so loud. You work late last night? You could’ve let me know and I would’ve been by earlier to help.”

Dom didn’t elaborate just how he’d worked late. Instead, he shrugged a sleepy shoulder. “Naw, we finished it up, so we could open late today, but thanks though.” Dom took the opportunity to continue his lazy expedition of stroking random patches of Brian’s skin, touching whatever was closest to him and Brian didn’t complain.

Brian turned away from his phone. “I really thought I dreamed you up.”

“So you admit that I’m your fantasy?”

Brian chuckled drily, again brushing up against Dom. “Since you got here at the ass crack of dawn, I’m gonna assume that you’re really talking about yourself.”

So Dom didn’t have a comeback against the truth. Didn’t really need one as knocking started on Brian’s door, a low hesitant tapping that continued for a couple of beats.

“Bri.” Rome’s voice carried sleepily through the door. “You up?”

“Possibly, what’s up?”

“Sophie called. Said Management wants us all at the club within an hour. Management--” The derision saturating the word from top to bottom”—wanna have a meeting with us?”

“Just us?”

“No, everyone on our crew.”

Brian exhaled tiredly, finally lifting his face from his pillow. “They realize we were just there, right?”

“Probably but they want us back for a staff meeting anyway. She said it was _mandatory_.” Which made Brian react like a dog with leashed pulled too hard.

Dom knew the Fox Hole Lounge was a legit business but it was anomalous to think of a group of strippers sitting around for an HR spiel.

Exhaling harshly, Brian looked to the door and responded, “Sure, whatever. Let her know we’ll be there and that Stasiak and Penning need to look up the meaning of day off in the dictionary.”

“So, I’m telling Soph yes and you’ll continue bitchin’ to someone who wants to hear that.” Rome paused briefly, then the tenor of his tone was flooded with animation. “Yo, Big D in there?” He asked so suggestively, the lusty eyebrow waggle was astral projected through the door.

Brian looked at Dom for the next play. Figuring Tej might have dry-snitched on him, Dom shrugged, allowing Brian the freedom to handle the interrogation as he wanted. “Why?” Brian probed.

Not deterred by his brother’s sidestep, Rome opted to hit the source directly. “Yo, Big D, if you’re in the there, that’s cool. Maybe you could do a little somethin-something in the kitchen for us, cuz the night was long and we hungry as hell, man.” The whine at the end was new but old to Brian who rolled his eyes. “Pancakes maybe? Just a suggestion.”

“Told you there were not take-backs.” Brian spoke lowly to Dom. “If you don’t give him an answer, especially the one where you’ll agree to make him and the others food, then he’ll start yowling like a cat outside my door until he wakes up the others and makes me try to drop-kick him.” Which left any events that followed under Dom’s purview.

Capitulation was a rough bitch to swallow. “Sure, Rome. Just give me a bit, alright?”

“Sure, thanks, Big D.” Rome answered way too happily. “I’ll leave y’all alone to get back to whateva y’all were doin’ before. _Fun-fun_.”

Brian’s shoulder shook as he laughed into his pillow and Dom didn’t hold back his annoyance, instead he gave that same shoulder a hard shove and watched Brian go over the side of the bed. Only making Brian laugh harder after releasing a small surprised whoop on the way down.

Dom refrained from additional commentary until Brian got back in bed. “You want something else?”

“Tuna, no crusts.” Brian had an inhuman ability to eat tuna and not catch a case of fish breath afterwards. The order wasn’t exactly what Dom had in mind for Brian but he’d fill it anyway since he asked.

“The shit I’ll do for you.” Dom said with minimum bite.

“Yeah well, you asked.”

“No complaints here, just statin’ facts.” Of the things that gave him issue with Brian, there was one that he hardly believed. “Can’t believe you’re gonna let me into your kitchen?”

Brian gave him a ridiculously blue stare. “Dom, I let you in _way more_ private places. So my kitchen isn’t a problem. At least the kitchen provides something to keep everyone satisfied and not just me.”

Brian stretched after he got out of bed, pulling his arms wide and rolling his muscles until they were warm and loose.

He walked into the bathroom, inspecting his face and neck and the rest of his skin, below the rim of his boxers included, in the mirror as he reached for his toothbrush. Dom finally got up and moved to seat himself on the foot of the bed, absently scratching at the dried sponge across his stomach. He watched Brian go through the motions of getting ready, spitting out toothpaste and mouthwash until he went back to perusing his skin. He didn’t have any marks but the multiple views he took in the mirror told him where to direct his attention.

Brian began to kick the door closed when Dom asked, “You’re cutting off the view just like that?”

Brian stepped inside its narrowing mouth. “You’re not watching me shave.”

“Why not?” Dom plucked that line again, the one that needed clarification. He didn’t want to take his eyes off Brian just yet. Dom was inured to being watched, whether by his family, admirers, competitors, or the flat eyes of the screws and restless cons, striding in tight circles, all moving on currents of anticipation. “’s not like you got much to shave anyway.” He concluded, picking the rim of his fingernails clean of the salty mess.

Another Brian idiosyncrasy: being able to strip down to God’s sweat suit without hesitation but letting Dom watch him clean up the prickly patches of his face and the final frontier inside his boxers was somehow too obtrusive. “It’s not exciting. Just doing it now saves time later.” Being shy about his body wasn’t in Brian’s make-up, but Dom could see when to back off. Not press on despite his hunger, and fuck, was he still hungry for more of Brian in any capacity.

Brian shutting the door became the period at the end of that line of conversation, urging Dom to finish waking up.

The shower whirred behind the door. The arrhythmic disruptions in the spray’s fall sketched a panel of movement that Dom tracked with his imagination. Each perceived twist and bow beneath the water answered Dom’s imagination with a teasing whisper of _one day soon_ and he knew the post-war design of the house offered the benefit of enough space for Dom to watch and participate.

Brian emerged bearing the wet flush of clean skin glistening above the low-slung towel around his hips. They almost diverted into diving back into Brian’s bed until they heard another door slam followed by Rome’s loud proclamation that Dom would be making them breakfast. Loud enough to remind him in case he forgot.

Dom took his turn cleaning up in the bathroom and reemerged in time to see Brian pull another generic t-shirt over his head, more than long enough to cover the waist of his jeans before he went hunting for his beat-up of Chucks.

Having already rolled up his pants and now working on smoothing his tank down his chest, Dom stopped to give Brian another cursory glance; one that featured a spark doused by what he saw. “Why do you dress like that?”

Brian spared him a brief look, still too focused on reuniting his feet, socks, and shoes into a resumed three-way. “Nothing wrong with the way I dress.” Brian countered.

“Only if you’re a geriatric skater boy, then it’s cool. Otherwise, no.” It made sense in a way for Brian to swing towards the other end of the clothing spectrum—fully dressed without any extras during the day and when off the clock versus the barely there, too tight wardrobe that was his staple at the Fox Hole Lounge. “Looking at you is like watching a finely tuned car that’s speedway ready cruise around with sun warped paint. Just a little effort would make a big difference.” Then he thought about his observations from before—the acrobatic balancing act of Brian and the rest of the O’Conner kids financial situation, and felt like a dick for not appreciating that the lack of skrilla might have augmented Brian’s choices rather than a general lack of good taste.

Again, Brian shrugged off the criticism, instead stretching his limbs with a flexible ease that seemed inherent in dancers and the jointless. He stepped into the sphere of Dom’s space, leaving just enough room between them to tease the ease of its violation.

His voice was pitched low, still thick with the weight of morning and angled it close enough to tickle Dom’s jaw with the breeze of his minty breath. “Maybe you should think about all of this,” he gestured down the length of his body with a wave, “—differently. It should get you hot knowing that under the tarp there’s a Ferrari? The tarp doesn’t change that there’s still a Ferrari underneath.”

Dom slipped a palm over the warm damp space on the back of Brian’s neck and curled his fingers there. “So you’re a Ferrari now? Gotta say I like how highly you think of yourself. They say confidence is really the sixth sense.”

“You think I’m not?” Brian challenged inching into the neutral zone between them.

Dom agreed without further resistance. “Then what am I?”

That smirk came back and Dom cut through the space until Brian was literally talking against his mouth. Words fed to Dom with each curl of his lips. “I’d say a Hummer for obvious reasons. Though truth says you’re a Charger.” He tapped Dom’s bare bicep. “All that power makes it is perfect for you.”

They stopped messing around then, giving each other the first real taste of the morning. All slow and sweet like they had nowhere to be and nothing to do but lap towards a lazy finish.

Of course the volume of the real world beyond Brian’s bedroom door kicked up again in the form of Rome’s loud declaration of _Hey G, put the box down, we gettin’ pancakes_ and the snap, crackle, wail of Twink and Tank over the baby monitor beside Brian’s bed.

Brian sucked Dom’s bottom lip one last time before releasing him completely and backwards walking towards his door. “No take-backs,” he warned lightly, already turning the knob to dive into the head rush of sound.

“Still not complainin’,” Dom said, already moving to follow him. “Let’s do some crowd control before this turns into an episode of Cops.”

Then Brian snorted, “That’s only Thanksgiving and Christmas. Sometimes Wrestlemania, too. Just depends on the year.”

The laughter that followed was the best kind.

Thirty minutes later after Dom had quieted the human tornadoes known as Rome, Suki, and Giselle with an offering of pancakes so fluffy they should have been preserved in glossy print and wrangled an atomic age can of tuna to satisfy Brian’s request for the plainest incarnation of a tuna sandwich imaginable, he stepped out into the California sunshine with a beaming Rome standing at his back. A full belly elevating his mood to stratospheric.

Brian hovered in the doorway talking to Suki and Giselle who each carried a twin. “They’re fed and changed. Just clean them up and put them down for tummy time.”

Giselle pushed him down the steps while Suki grabbed the door. “We’ve got this, Po-Po. Go save your job because we like eating and electricity and water and--” Suki trailed off as she bounced a babbling Tank on her hip.

Not to be left out, Giselle added, “We’ll make sure their heads don’t turn out like Rome’s.”

Rome turned around to fling a glare at his sister and snap back, “You’re too young to be so mean.”

The former youngest O’Conner waved Twink’s tiny fist in the direction of their big brothers. “We can’t all be talented right, Rome?” Brian closed the inside door after the sisters shared a triumphant high five.

Next door, Mrs. Hobbs sat beneath the barely cool shade on her porch. She waved to the trio but called out to Brian who went over to the fence abutting the two properties to meet her.

Beside Dom, Rome grumbled, “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Dom glanced back at him.

“Huh, nothin’.” Rome answered too quickly, almost startled by Dom’s question.

Incomplete stories always ranked on Dom’s personal list of things that triggered his temper and considering the sinuous insinuation that Tej leveled on him earlier, Dom chose to ask for clarification rather than simply demand it as he normally did. “Naw, there’s something, so what is it?”

It was easy to track the internal course of Rome’s decision making process, watch the weighting of the benefits to risks of lying, evading, or saying too much. Dom put into play a newly acquired trump card. “You like those pancakes? No more unless you decide to share with the rest of the class.”

Rome’s face took on a pained expression. “That’s extortion, Big D.” Hit a man where it hurt and he’d crumble every time no matter what.

Dom blinked. “And?”

Rome packed a lifetime’s worth of exasperation in one sigh. “Man, that’s just wrong but whateva. So…I don’t know if you met Luke aka Samoan Thor that lives next door...”

“Yeah, I peeped him this morning.”

Rome bobbed his head, “Cool, cool, so yeah…he and Bri…kinda, y’know.”

“I don’t speak pauses.”

The corners of Rome’s mouth pinched tight and he shot daggers. “…just perfect for each other,” he lowly muttered.

“What was that?” Dom repeated.

Rome nodded in the direction of Brian’s meet-up with Mrs. Hobbs. “Bri and Luke had a thing for like a hot minute and Mrs. Hobbs can’t let it go.” Setting new meaning on the salty looks she continuously tossed at him.

Rome took a big step back, preemptively ducking for cover before the presumed explosion after that truth bomb’s fall. Dom’s response was simply, “Okay,” and stated as a reference point for himself.

But Brian marched across the narrow yard to join them out front by the cars. The set of his shoulders wound tight, now reassuring that Mrs. Hobbs hadn’t persuaded him to reconsider. That chill thawed suddenly as he cast a wave at the house across the street.

“Morning, Mr. Bilkins,” Brian offered with surprising friendliness.

Mr. Bilkins was the Tommy Bahamas enthusiast who had stared down Dom when he’d first rolled down the block.

“Hey Brian, Rome, and the gentleman I don’t know.” It was a familiar tone that made Dom sense that Mr. Bilkins’s wardrobe included more than tropical pastels and might have formerly been mired in black and white once upon a time. So not offering up his name wasn’t a stroke of rudeness, rather a move in favor of his own survival and continued freedom.

The deep timbre of Mr. Bilkins’s voice was tuned to be reassuring yet subtly intrusive. “Say boys, how’s Rowena doing?” He pointed the nose of his garden shears towards the dirt, the wide brim of his hat softened his inspection of the trio. Definitely a cop move, Dom surmised.

Rome stepped up to field the question. “Mama Pearce is doin’ fine. You know she likes a good party, so we’re gonna go see her on my birthday.”

The older man nodded satisfied with Rome’s response. “Good, tell her I’ll be by to see her soon.”

Brian waved one final time. “We’ll let her know, sir,” and motioned that they needed to go before they got pulled into another round of neighborly chitchat.

Yet Rome started rambling on, stirred by a slight that Dom couldn’t place, so the short glance that Dom and Brian shared contained a dose of mutual confusion.

Rome popped the door open on the _Ro-Machine_ , swung it wide and rocked half in and out, scowling at his brother and the retreating back of Mr. Bilkins who was jauntily strolling through the lateral edges of his garden. “Man, that’s some bullshit.” He hissed at Brian when Mr. Bilkins was out of sight. “How he gonna you like you better when I’m the one that was almost his step-grandson?”

Brian gestured broadly at Mr. Bilkins’s yard then slid a snarky smirk Rome’s way. “That’s easy, Rome. He likes me cuz I’m not the one that backed into his fence and crushed his favorite roses. You’re lucky he remembered that you were almost his step-anything and didn’t just haul your ass away for being dumb.”

Rome’s dark vulpine eyes narrowed and made promises of retribution so immediate that Dom felt compelled to step into Brian’s space as back-up. Of course, Rome made good on that intent. “Okay, _Bri-Ann_. If you wanna play like that, I’ll ante up. So Imma tell him that you’re the one that stole his favorite lawn gnome.” Rome said, clicking his tongue for emphasis. Loud like popping a long closed seal. “You’re my witness, Big D. The only time I’m ever gonna snitch and it will be now. _Yep_ , I’ll let Almost-Step-Granddaddy know that Bri stole Mr. Peepers.”

Brian made a quick move towards his brother, stopped short by Dom snagging the tail of his t-shirt. “You wouldn’t.”

Rome hopped inside the _Ro-Machine_ and slammed the door, only casting his head out the window to yell back at Brian as he turned over the engine. “I told you not to sleep on my promises, Po-Po. Like the Clap, you had to know this was all gonna come back.”

Dom and Brian shared an amused look. Because Rome made it _so easy_ to go for the verbal belly which Brian did while sporting a broad grin and less tension, so Dom felt secure in letting him off his tether. “Yeah, I guess you’d know about the Clap, Rome.” Earning a bastard hybrid snort-laugh from Dom.

That brief look of satisfaction on Rome’s face melted away like Southern California snow and set Rome’s big mouth to bellowing, “Mr. Bilkins--”just as quickly as Brian began running towards his him, forcing him to take off up the street.

When Brian slid into the passenger seat of the Charger, Dom’s unashamed inspection was mired in amusement and generalized awe. Brian’s unique brand of wild and crazy flinging him through turns with the speed of a pinball in motion.

He did a quick count off with three fingers. “You said Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Wrestlemania were Cops days. So I’m not sure what you call that little showcase out there?”

“That was the promise of a brotherly asskicking to come.” Stated Brian baldly. “Like chicken soup settles the soul, a good asskicking keeps us honest.”

Dom turned the engine over. “I don’t think it works like that.”

Brian grinned back. “Trust me, it does.”

Sometimes the lines between Brian’s smartass sarcasm and genuine feelings blurred, making Dom feel a resultant vertigo as he tried to figure Brian out—tried to see him in a straight light. It was easier to cave to the distraction of driving over to the Fox Hole Lounge versus unspooling the knotted line of Brian’s behavior to distinguish the two angles.

The only commentary Dom offered as they eased down the buzzing block was a sense of personal benediction, “I’m glad I have a sister.” He said, realizing that Brian had twice as many of those to gang up on him. But Rome’s attempt at snitching left him curious. “Did you really have to steal the old man’s lawn gnome?”

“Dom, what I did was an act of community service.” Brian answered with a tank of sureness and lacking any shade of remorse to color his actions. “That little thing was evil and you would’ve done the same thing.”

Dom pulled them out into ordered chaos of midmorning traffic. “Doin’ community service like a real boy scout.” He muttered above the drawl of the engine.

The drive was so smooth that Dom allowed himself to almost forget about Rome’s little nugget of truth: that Hobbs and Brian were a thing, and forgot he _almost_ did.

* * *

Without the backdrop of night and neon, the Fox Hole Lounge blended in with the spotted assortment of industrial buildings sporadically lining the industrial road.

There hadn’t been any question that Dom would go with Brian to the meeting. On his rare day off, Brian had telegraphed his desire to put more work into the GT-R and whatever else Dom had lined up at the shop. Those plans had included being far from the Fox Hole Lounge until his shift rolled around again, dragging him back into the center of too bright lights and a tsunami of human sound.

They cleared the parking lot, then stepped out of the bright shades of day and deep into the fuzzy dark and artificial lighting of the Fox Hole’s belly, momentarily blinded until visual accommodation set in effect. Despite the head start, Rome hadn’t managed to beat them there.

“I think I’m supposed to go that way,” Brian said, pointing to the motley assembly of the male strippers spread out over the central cluster of low tables facing the wide mouth of the stage.

Dom spied Sophie sitting in front of the bar for a change and canted his head in her direction. “I’ll hang out over there.” Not that the distance would mute the volume on the meeting or keep any of the business in-house.

Sophie greeted Dom with a smile and patted the open stool to her right. “Hey Dom. I see you got dragged to this thing, too.” The stool to her left was occupied by Klaus, who issued Dom a silent nod. Dom wondered if the doorman had been pulled away from an audition for the mystery meeting.

“It changed our plans but we’ve still got the rest of the day. What ‘bout you? They pull you outta class for this?”

“My Fridays are actually blissfully class free.” Sophie pumped her fists, demonstrating her happiness, then cut a short wave at the figure stepping through the door.

It was Rome who first zeroed in on Dom, then found Brian sitting at a low table at the back of the cluster somewhat isolated from the main group. Dom watched Rome approach with the curiosity of a kid awaiting the meeting of baking soda and vinegar in a tight space; this interaction was far from volatile as Brian and Rome looked at each other and transitioned through the twin steps of _glare_ , _scowl_ , and _grin_ until Rome dropped into the seat beside Brian and began his unusually quiet surveillance of their co-workers.

Turning to Sophie, Dom asked her, “Got any idea what this is about?”

She answered with a slow shake of her head. “I was called in to play secretary on top of everything else I do and was told to keep a count of who was here.” Her mention of everything else possibly included maintaining the muted thump and roll of the trap track that provided background noise.

There were approximately sixteen dancers present. Most Dom had seen during his visits, a few were complete strangers who glanced at him just as warily. The loose cluster positioned towards the back of the group were guys that Dom knew Brian had worked with during performances. Their names coming unbidden to mind as Sophie began her prescribed roll call. “Brian, Rome, Alex, Orange Julius, Slap Jack, Caesar, Dwight…”

The rest of the crew included bouncing beefy twins, Enrique and Roberto, and the other slabs of too tan muscle sitting at the foot of the stage.

The start of the meeting was signaled by the big boss and Fox Face climbing the side steps of the stage and walking down to the edge. Naturally, their arrival staunched the flow of conversation.

“Alright, Gentlemen, let’s get started,” said the Stasiak, forever to be known as the Fox Face to Dom. “We’re here to discuss changes Management will be making to the way we operate.”

The taller, older man, Penning, aka Big Boss, stepped forward then and took over by holding up an official looking document for all to see. “This is the Fox Hole Lounge’s Adult Entertainment License.” He did a slow wave over the official document’s glossy front. “This means we are safe to operate for another year.” Which earned a round of claps and howls from the dancers below.

Stasiak quieted the noise with a brutal wave of his arm. “Settle down so we can get this over with.”

Now Penning continued, “The change that Management has made is in regards to how we’ve listed our clientele. Day operations will remain the same. The changes will come to your shift. Now the Nighttime Boys will run all seven nights--” again earning a loud burst of applause, “—and will host female clients for four nights and male for the other three.”

Despite the music, the room took on a new silence. A long strangled beat until several of the guys were speaking at once, words jumbling together in a knot of sound to the apparent frustration of Management.

Slap Jack raised his hand, much like the know-it-all kid in school and received the go-ahead to speak from Penning. He was often featured in the big group numbers that Brian and Sophie put together and on the whole was cocky but a capable dancer, truly well-loved by the patrons. Probably due to his redbone good looks paired with the genetic bonus of aqua blue eyes.

He cleared his throat and licked his lips nervously crashing through his normal veneer of cocksureness. “So,” Slap Jack took a long, careful pause, “—three nights a week, we’re dancing just for dudes? Not like when we get a few in here and let them stay,” Dom felt as though eyes were on him suddenly and didn’t flinch, “now you’re talking all dudes for full shifts?”

“Yes.” Penning declared so tightly that any room for distention evaporated at the end of the word.

Orange Julius was not as chill about the decision. “Why this and why now? We been killin’ it lately. We can’t need new patrons that badly. I’ve got a coupla chicas that are gonna finance my house. Con buena suerte, a new car.”

Fox Face crossed his arms over his meager chest and levied an impressive dismissive look down at Julius. “Not everyone is as lucky as you to have _chicas_ who’re gonna end up buying them a house. This decision is less about you and more of an economic decision on the behalf of the club.”

Julius squared up his jaw and sank into an obstinate position in his chair. “I don’t like it. I don’t agree.”

“Tough luck.” Penning shrugged and scanned the group. “We understand if some of you are uncomfortable and want to decline. That said, if you do, you’ll be stuck on the female only nights, so no more than four days a week, which for some of you will be scaling back from your usual.”

“That’s bullshit!” Shouted a walking jerky stick from the front row.

The Big Boss waded back into the one-sided debate. “It might be but it’s business first. We’re all in this to make money and entertain second. If you can’t do both of those things, then this place isn’t for you.” Penning struck him as the type that rarely offered second chances. How Brian had gotten his despite his history of bad behavior meant that he was too valuable to lose.

Beef Jerky sat back in his chair, not before casting a quelling look around the group, his eyes lighting and lingering the longest on Brian. “This ain’t fair to those of us that don’t want to go in the back and suck dick for extra tips. Can’t compete with that if you’re just gonna dance. Sugar mamas are a rarer breed than Sugar daddies,” he cocked a sneer back at Dom which was returned with look as flat as concrete and twice as hard. “So you’re putting most of us at a disadvantage.”

Dom caught the small look that Brian and Rome shared, including the small shake of Brian’s head telling Rome to leave it, but Rome was already out of his chair, arms tight at his side clearly on the defensive. “Management here ain’t asking none of y’all to do anything other than your jobs. You dance and entertain, right? No one’s talkin’ about adding a secret menu here unless that’s how you wanna roll with this to make extra scratch. Otherwise, I think some of us need to do more listening and less bitchin’.”

“Easy for you to say, Rome.” Beef Jerky didn’t sense when to leave well enough alone and probably just didn’t give a damn. So he kept sharpening his words to prod harder at his intended target. “I’m sure you and your brother are just waiting to dust off those knee pads, right? But it looks like one of you never took them off, so of course the two of you would want to hop on this shit-show train.”

Tej told Dom to check the pulse on his anger. Inside, Dom’s rage swelled and burst like water blisters under the combined assault of heat and the crush of atmospheres of pressure. That pulse tattooed a war beat within his arteries, demanding that Dom rip through the shoe leather-skinned asshole who went after Brian. Go after him not only because the guy was being a prick but also because Brian was Dom’s.

Brian forced Rome bodily into his seat, because Rome, like Dom, was a half breadth of a second from teaching Jerky manners through physical correction.

Brian seemed utterly nonplussed by the barrage of insults. He had the attention of the entire Nighttime Boy crew and Management, all waiting for his defense with fists or not, an acceptable refutation of Jerky’s insinuation, or failure to respond which would be interpreted as an admission of guilt, a permanent show of weakness. A game that Dom had played during his first weeks in Lompoc that got him lugged to Ad Seg but earned him respect along the way. He watched Brian now and hoped that he didn’t wilt.

Brian remained loosely sprawled in his seat, the universal example of unbothered. “Korpi, Management just said nothing has to change and it won’t. The only difference will be who is sitting in the audience. But who gets to be center stage versus background will be as it’s always been. So I don’t think you should worry about teasing anyone too much and not being able to fulfill those extras, it’s not like anyone would be able to see you anyway. Or like they’re actually paying to see that--” Brian gave Korpi an unimpressed scan, “—anyway. If you were smart, you’d see the opportunity for what it is. In your case, it’s charity. So be appreciative. Show some class. Accept this thing as the last good thing you’ll ever get in this business at your age.”

That smartass cool was a weapon indeed. The verbal burn scorched Korpi formerly known as Jerky with the devastating force of an A-Bomb.

“Settle down!” Stasiak ordered, intervening far too late to keep the discussion civil.

Penning stepped closer to the edge of the stage, standing with the rectitude of a disciplining father. “If we can act like adults then we can hurry this up and let you all get back to the rest of your day. Can we take a vote to see who’s interested in taking on the both groups?” The satellite of dancers located closest to Brian, including him and Rome, raised their hands and picked up a few from the scattered dancers in the center. “And those that want to stay on the old shift?”Korpi, Enrique, Roberto, and a three other big bodies raised their hands.

“We have our shifts, gentlemen.” Penning said. Before the dismissal could take effect, Penning started up one more time. “We’re also going to market differently. This time, we want to promote a few of you as featured acts.” He said this keeping his gaze squarely on Brian. “This will drum up excitement and give the guys coming in a taste of what they’ll be seeing. We’ll take volunteers first then we’ll reach out to those of you that we think are good ambassadors for the club.”

If Penning expected Brian to offer himself up to be the Fox Hole’s poster boy then Brian lived to disappoint him. Brian remained stoic and immobile, only shifting to keep Rome from jumping at the chance. His small head shake at his brother speaking volumes.

The vote revealed a clear division among the staff. A schism that was partially formed on the basis of youth and apparent attractiveness versus the old school bulk and beef that was stereotypically associated with male strippers. With Brian and Korpi standing as the leaders of each faction. Dom figured Brian didn’t want the role but would step into the position for as long as he needed to.

“Now,” Fox Face continued minimally shifting conversational gears, “same rules apply for conduct: no touching, no rubbing, no extras in the back, no hooking up on club grounds. Where you work and where you _fuck_ need to be separate places. It doesn’t matter if your cruising for tits or dick or a combo of both, you need to take it elsewhere.” He stared down the dancers, landing his beady eyes on each one, including the trio of Klaus, Sophie, and Dom. “Meeting adjourned.”

Some of the dancers instantly broke for the doors, others swarmed the edge of the stage in a reversal of positions taken by the patrons to get at Management.

Brian and Rome maintained their distance from the group and made their way coolly outside. Dom said his goodbyes to Sophie and Klaus and followed after them, still ignoring the weight of eyes on his back.

In the parking lot, Brian and Rome were posted up against the big Caddy. Rome obviously talking the breezy kind of shit that set Brian at ease, making him laugh.

“Screw Korpi, his stank hair grease and the rest of those Slim Jim lookin’ bastards. If it weren’t for us, this club would be the hottest roach motel on the block.” Rome declared.

Brian shifted over to make room for Dom, as if he wanted him to have a front row seat to watch the parade of disgruntled dancers exiting the Fox Hole Lounge’s doors.

“I’m with you on this one,” Brian agreed. “But your backup plan needs some work.”

Rome sidled up to Dom, looking for new co-signer to fall in line with whatever new flight of fantasy he was trying to sell. “Big D, I’m tryin’ to sell my brother on the alternate path of doing the kids’ birthday party circuit.”

Dom’s brows hitched high in the face of the idea and remained so as his mind merged the image of Brian and Rome’s type of dancing with the sugar and piñatas of kid parties. “I’m not sure your type of dancing is appropriate for a kid’s party, just sayin’.”

If Dom had been anyone else, Rome might have taken a swing at him but Rome rolled his eyes instead and snorted a short breath of mountainous exasperation as he worked himself up to explain his idea. “Now I know you’ve had to have seen one of those videos online of the costumed characters breaking it down for the kids. That could be us goin’ viral. I could be Batman, the Falcon, the Black Panther, Steel, Mr. Terrific, or the Green Lantern— whoever the kids want that’s hot and poppin’. And Bri could be She-Ra, Supergirl, Powergirl, Black Canary…y’know, cuz he’s so pretty.”

Brian slugged Rome in the shoulder once and then again for flinching. “See, I was this close to joining your bullshit parade but now? Nope, you can get jumped by a pack of ankle biters by yourself.”

Rome rubbed his arm. “Next time, I won’t share any golden opportunities with you.” He slowed the stroking of his arm as he turned his attention back to Dom. “Bri tell you that I’ve got a birthday coming up?”

“I think you mentioned it.”

Rome grinned wide and bright, any lingering soreness completely forgotten. “C’mon, bruh, it’s my twenty-first. We’ve gotta tell everyone. It’s gonna be live, Dom. I mean, we’re gonna do it up. I’ll be fully legal and single and that’s the best kind of birthday to have.”

Brian joined in with a small disappointed sound. “Don’t say that, Rome. You’re gonna hurt Rosie’s feelings.”

“Rosie?” Rome gave his brother a confused look. “I don’t know a Rosie.”

Brian grinned equally bright subtly sliding his eyes from Rome to Dom and back to Rome. Like Dom had previously thought: Rome just made it _so easy_ to take the cheap shot. Brian held up his palm and used his other hand to point at his palm then his fingers. “You know Rosie Palm and her five sisters. Don’t be an asshole and let her know you’re gonna cheat on her.”

Dom never imagined he would ever see such a thing as Rome turning a shade of red but Brian’s teasing got him there, annoyed to the point of speechless lip flapping. “I’m goin’ to work. Bye!” He rounded his car, each step echoing that he was done with his brother’s bullshit.

“Have a good day.” Brian yelled after him, earning himself a one finger salute and windblown _love ya, bruh_ as Rome drove away.

Watching the frosty exchange between Brian and Korpi as he exited with Enrique and Roberto concluded their time meandering in the parking lot.

When they arrived at DT’s, the shop was still quiet, the _Closed_ sign grinning through the glass of the front door. The emptiness of the shop gave them room to talk, as there was plenty left unsaid about the meeting at the Fox Hole Lounge and the new operations shift.

Dom spoke as he pulled on one of his work shirts, leaving it unbuttoned as he smoothed down the front. “Rome’s right about Korpi. He’s salty because his glory days are gone and he’s on the fast slide off the Fox Hole’s stage.”

“True.” Brian started a pot of coffee in the back. Just a thing he did that got most of the team warmed up to him even more.

“What do you wanna do?” Dom asked watching the subtle shift in Brian’s back as he scooped the grounds into the filter.

“Until we get this settled, maybe you shouldn’t come around for a bit.” Still Brian hadn’t turned around.

Now Dom went over to him, making it so that Brian had to look at him if he planned to order Dom away. “You don’t want me there?” He checked the pulse on his anger. No, it wasn’t anger in his voice, just incredulity.

Done with the distraction of coffee, Brian faced Dom with an open look. Not a hint of his modus operandi of feinting and ducking to be seen in his eyes. “I didn’t say that, Dom. I’m thinking you won’t wanna be there for the new nights.” Brian was right even if Dom refused to admit it. “Maybe…No,” he corrected, “I don’t want you there for that.”

“Why?” He wanted Brian to spell it out, make his suspicions of Dom’s reservations obvious, keeping Brian from dodging the truth with a subtle lie.

Brian shifted against the counter to make himself comfortable. “You like action just as much as me and sitting back to watch just doesn’t sit well with you most times. So having to sit back and watch me dance for some other guy or guys… or watching me take one to the back…I already know that won’t go down well and you know it too.”

_Check the pulse on his anger. Check the pulse on his anger,_ Dom thought.

Only one thing could make that unwanted prospect instantly better. “You could quit.”

Brian shook his head. “I need the money. Did you forget when I first met you that I said I had bills? Well, I didn’t and bills gotta be paid, so I do what I have to do.”

“There are other jobs.” Dom dropped his chin mulishly, not believing for a second that Brian wasn’t smart enough to do something else if he really wanted.

“ _Right_ , there are plenty of jobs out there that let you pull down nearly a grand a night with barely having your GED.” A well of ice in his eyes to match the bitter cold in Brian’s tone. “I know my strengths, Dom, and know to use them to my advantage. I’m just tryin’ to keep you outta trouble.”

“Funny, I thought I was doing the same for you.”

He thought of Letty then and felt the goading desire to give her an apology. Brian wasn’t setting up to chase anyone but rather get chased by anyone holding the right assortment of green. The chase was only deliberate because it was a part of his job. Lacking in mean intent towards anyone that desired to just be with Brian, unlike those angling to chase him for a chance at a quick and easy escape into fantasy. This same chord had been struck twice in the day by Tej and Korpi, each carrying widely different intentions by insinuating things about Brian and, by extension, Dom.

Dom had an empathy for the loyal dogs that suddenly went feral by biting the hand that fed them. Just thinking about Leon now put a recognizable face to the looming problem that was following Brian. A problem that Dom couldn’t stand between without Brian blowing back harder and away from him.

He was learning through hard practice the difficulty in shifting his view from _me_ to _we_ to _him_.

“You’re doing it again.” Brian burst through his mental bubble.

“What am I doin’ other than standing here?”

“You’re doing that thing where you look at me like you’ve got a mental microscope. Every time you look at me like that, I feel like I should be wearing a tuxedo with a bow tie, cuz you’ve got this image of me in your head. Like I’m some man of mystery. I told you already: don’t look deep. Everything about me is right on the surface.”

Willing myopia narrowed Dom’s perspective of Brian. If he were to be accused of looking too deeply, then he needed to be honest--his focus was applied to one or two areas tops, and none of them were critical. It was the obvious things, much like the addictive cut of Brian’s grin that kept Dom’s attention.

Brian lied as easily as he breathed. Never vicious lies, just slight shuffle steps that were clearly off-center from the truth. The question of whom had taught Brian the skill hovered over these exchanges where Dom always skated so close to actually believing Brian’s bullshit—out of desire and willingness.

“You’ve been looking, too.” Dom pointed out.

Brian sniffed tiredly. The need for his day off making itself known. “Just wondering when you’re gonna to turn the corner—just realize that this is fun but you’re not willing to get too invested. Cuz you don’t know how it looks right now.”

Didn’t he? He had two state of the art high chairs in his trunk and he’d tramped across town because he couldn’t take a joke from one of his best friends and was willing to just sleep in the same bed as his…as his…as Brian without the suggestion of sex because he wanted to be close. So yeah, Dom got how it looked.

He signaled for Brian to follow him. Go back to putting action with his words. “I think I’m the type you keep around, because you’ll never get bored. That I can promise you.” Dom rounded the back of the Charger to pop the trunk, realizing he could diffuse the tension with his hidden ace. “I got something for you actually.”

“Yeah,” Brian joined him in front of the trunk.

The highchairs calmly waited to be claimed. The boxes looked impressive with sunlight to reflecting off the glossy faces like a natural endorsement.

In the beginning, he tried to identify Brian as the good kind of trouble or the bad kind. Brian wasn’t trouble. These chairs were and Dom was, too. So, lying right now would be a genuine act.

“My Pop had a policy of letting some of the customers—the ones he knew where good for it—pay in-kind if they didn’t have the money for the work. So I had an old timer come in yesterday who needed a new radiator belt and a hard as hell to find A/C compressor and he offered these up in exchange for the service and I thought you might want ‘em.” Dom stated carefully, deliberately choosing the word want in place of need when making his offer.

Brian scanned the box and turned one over. “They’re nice.” He said.

“If you want them, they’re yours for Twink and Tank. Obviously, I don’t have a use for them.”

Like Dom had done when he first found them, Brian read over each panel until he came to an end. “Remind me later.” Brian closed the trunk. He stepped around Dom to get to the GT-R, tossing a quiet “Thanks” over his shoulder.

“Sure.” Dom now appreciated Leon’s warning, having just seen a minor wound to Brian’s pride.

Then Dom’s phone chirped in his back pocket. He unlocked the screen to see a text from Leon.

As he read it, Dom thanked his best friend again for coming through with the stealth of a Jedi to help Dom soothe the friction that was disrupting his day.

The socket wrench’s clicking was the only thing that betrayed Brian’s stillness over the GT-R’s mouth.

“You up for driving tonight?” He asked Brian.

Brian looked over his shoulder. “Last time I checked, my car was still a work in progress and this isn’t the type of place where you can just make do with your imagination.”

“Alright, smartass, I meant, do you wanna drive my RX-7?”

Dom had become familiar with the gamut of looks that Brian could give him, but this one was surely new. “Are you serious?” Brian squared him up in one unbroken disbelieving look. “That’s a big offer.”

The scales between them had been tipped towards Brian from the beginning: Brian being the one to trust Dom with his kids and his car. But Dom now felt like he was on a new keel, clear headed and focused. Running on an endless supply of clean fuel that kept him burning at just under sub-max. His fuel being Brian that got him there.

“I know what I’m offering is big. But I know what you’re capable of—behind the wheel or not, so it’s not like I’m not making a smart bet. I’ve got a lot invested in you.”

The next look that Dom received stretched the handful of years between them apart like distant stars. “I’m an investment. Is that all?” Brian sounded so young in one question.

_Not in the slightest_.

His boots were too loud moving over the garage’s concrete floors as he approached Brian. This would be another demonstration, positioning himself to bracket the edge of Brian’s body while his hand ghosted over Brian’s that held the socket wrench. He turned his head, drawing his mouth close to Brian’s ear. “Y’know that’s not all I’m trying to say. But it is the best way to get both of us satisfied without someone turning on the hose. So call this,” he gestured between them, “an investment to keep it simple.”

“I’ll admit I’m invested, too.” Brian said as he handed Dom the wrench.

Suddenly, Dom felt lighter and content to be firmly grounded.

He answered Leon’s text before he talked himself into changing his mind.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35821313785/in/dateposted-public/)

* * *

Fast forward to later that night after Brian had been baptized into the pre-race traditions of Team Toretto and was vibrating with hyper anticipation for the call to get to the red painted line that was rolled out for the start.

They watched Rome school Letty, Mia, and Vince on the impending extravagance of his birthday party. A short text to let Rome in on Brian’s change of plans for the night and had shaken out the remaining wrinkles from earlier, making them copacetic again. They were back to synchronized nods and twin grins that communicated future mischief which automatically forced Dom to take two steps back and shift left from whatever they were planning.

If Leon and the others on perimeter patrol could keep the heat off them, then Brian would run in the first heat and Dom the second.

They were sitting on the Mazda’s hood when Dom dropped his hand on Brian’s shoulder, a move that was simply companionable to outside spectators. But Dom added just enough counterforce to stem the rivers of frantic energy surging under Brian’s skin.

“You got this.” Dom said, one hundred percent confident that Brian could smoke the rest of the field with his car or a Radio Flyer wagon if given the right tools.

“I know I should be worried about getting behind a new wheel and my break but I’m not. Worried, nope. Not at all worried.”

Dom tapped his shoulder with his index finger. “Yeah, bag of worms under your skin says otherwise.”

“It’s still not nerves,” Brian shook his head once, then dipped his chin towards Dom. “I know what it meant for me to trust you with my car. So I’m thinking about turnabout and all that and what it means for you to do the same—”

Hector’s bellow echoed over the puddles of arced lights and the glass rattling whoop of the broad spectrum of English and Spanish hip hop bouncing off vacant buildings. “To the line!” His yell put bodies into motion. A couple of heats and the intersecting minutes between would give Dom enough time to compose the explanation Brian wanted.

They got off the RX-7’s hood. Dom made room for Brian to access the driver’s side door. But Dom grabbed the handle, opening it for him instead. Brian answered with an amused tilt of his head and a rapidly expanding smile on his mouth, drawing out a facsimile from Dom due to its cosmic pull.

As expected there were eyes on them. A man couldn’t hold the rep of King of The Street without having a waiting court drawn to his conquests and his contagious swagger. Vince had been better about Dom and Brian’s congress of two. He’d turned down his surliness from an amplitude of infinite down to a reasonable six, making Dom proud of his effort.

Dom had greeted Mia’s raised eyebrows and air blown kiss with a roll of his eyes and a stubborn smile. He’d been cautious of Letty, steadily reminded to heed Leon’s advice who gave him and Brian a full twenty-point inspection before diving into the sea of waiting admirers circling for her attention.

The other eyes on them were less friendly. Hector’s long stare was answered by a low slow nod by Dom while Edwin’s bitching only received a cool white smirk from Brian.

Brian knuckled the wheel loosely. “I think we just made some new enemies.”

Dom lifted one mountain of a shoulder. “D’you really care?”

Lights dancing on adrenaline shined in Brian’s eyes, fever bright and so beautiful. “I’ll apologize for the dust later.”

The rest of the field could eat Brian’s dust, dirt, and exhaust; all of which were to be expected when chasing taillights. “No, save the apologies. They’ve got to get used to eating dust anyway.” Dom dropped his voice as his eyes swung like a pendulum across the bubble of space around them. “My Pop always said it didn’t matter if you won by an inch or a mile. Winning was winning.”

Brian tapped the gas to make the RX-7 sing. “Then lemme show you how well I understand the definition.”

Dom gently tapped the window frame. “Smoke ‘em.”

Brian grinned back. “Is there any other choice?” Then rolled off towards the line.

He did just that.

Later, there was a young pup coming in last in Dom’s heat that limped back to the line with wounded pride and a wrecked car who kept lighting his eyes on Dom.

At his shoulder, Brian said, “Something about that kid I don’t like.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, but you shouldn’t let him come back.”

He was inclined to trust Brian’s instincts and tucked the observation away.

* * *

This time getting back to 1327 involved neither of them getting cornered by the cops or a major mechanical malfunction. Two wins down and pockets obviously fuller and getting high on the pride of winning had them cruising back.

It was easy to talk too loud and shoot the shit with a house full of acquaintances who were all stops along a long string of friendship. None of this stopped Dom from tracking Brian with his eyes, following him from his conversation with Mia, a teasing brush with Letty, or the gut twist during a quick chat with Leon.

Confidence redlining on too much Corona and a stealthy volley of looks from Brian got them out in the hot dark of the backyard, sitting atop the old mammoth tabletop and deaf to the ghost of his Mami’s voice chastising Dom not to. He began his day wanting and eager and would end it with the dredges of those emotions looping through him.

But Brian sat beside him now, working through beer number three and cracking through the tension of the day. Decompressing more with each lazy knock against Dom’s side and mouthfuls of beer that buried Korpi’s words and ignored Dom’s heavy-handed gestures.

If the same inhibition cocktail got to Dom first, then it was the cause for his desire to communicate. “If I can trust you with my car, I can trust you with the stuff that matters.” Dom was drunk on adrenaline as he threw his arm over Brian’s shoulders, carried the absent weight of fuck-all worries when it was just the two of them like this, and reveled like the young king that the streets had crowned him to be.

Skirting the edge of too drunk where words became loose and truth slipped between spit flushed lips like water through a sieve, those words that were cemented together wobbled as precariously as baby teeth to make room for the bundled declarations of need and want that Dom had just for Brian.

Dom started again with another brush of tongue over lips. “So wherever we go, we go. Just you and me. No one else.” The point so final that its fall resounded with an iron echo. “You almost had me once. No one’s ever almost _had me_.” In the dark, Brian’s eyes still burned too bright and Dom’s truths continued to pour. “I want you to have me.”

Brian accepted Dom’s declaration with the slightest release of his body, now drifting into Dom. Didn’t take another drink either. Just stayed in close communion with Dom, letting the orange haze of distant city lights and the flickers of movement from the house bathe them in gorgeous shadows. “You said you didn’t give losers extra shots, but I told you we were special. Guess I should welcome you to the club, since it’s your first time being too slow to catch onto something.”

Because of whom they were, bullshit became poetry and bluster became sacred promises.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.” Dom wasn’t blaming the admission on Corona. That was the culmination of his fore and hindbrain riding the same wavelength.

“When you say it, it doesn’t sound like a bad thing.”

If Dom was going to fuck up his cred, his rep, core through his foundation because he got hooked and couldn’t let go, then—yeah, beautiful would be near the top of the list of reasons to convert. “Definitely not.” Of course, Brian possessed a wealth of attributes to turn Dom’s head and keep it locked on him.

There was irony in this conversation ranking among the longest that they’d ever carried on straight talk, so Brian dissembled artfully as he snagged their empties and constructed a glass ring with them. “This your way of asking me to go steady? If it is, that’s cool. Just don’t think I’ll be wearing your jacket anytime soon. But a pin’s cool if you’ve got one.”

“Asshole.” Dom shook his head as Brian huffed out a laugh, the bottles rattling with their movements.

With the flick of a finger, the glass circle began to topple like dominoes. “I guess winning in your ride pushed me over the edge as a keeper. I told you that first night I almost had you and now you know for yourself.”

“Don’t go talkin’ crazy just yet. You keep runnin’ your mouth, we’ll set a new record for the start of a first fight.”

Both of them knew they weren’t going to fight tonight; of that Dom was sure. When the music was put to bed and the stragglers ordered to kick rocks back to their places, he’d see how well Brian could follow. Lead him upstairs to a once visited place where Dom could shut the door, lock it, and offer the promise of no interruptions. Fast or slow—any place within the dichotomy, they’d work up to, reverse it, and finish by the return of stupid o’clock.

Catching and releasing the links in Dom’s chain restlessly, Brian mimed his agreement, hints of that feline fearlessness spurring him to get closer to Dom and through looks and touches matured those promises into diamond guarantees.

With a final swell of Corona courage, Dom’s voice broke like distant thunder as he whispered, “You’re gonna do two things.”

“What?”

“One, you’re gonna call Rome. Tell ‘em it’s still not a kidnapping…You gotta tell me the story behind that one day.” Just like Dom would ask about Race Wars eventually.

“One day I just might.” Brian leaned in. “Thing number two?”

“Two is comin’ in the house and not leaving until tomorrow. Maybe even forgettin’ the rest of the shit from today or forever. Your choice.”

Brian’s grin notched an elevation in Dom’s pulse. “That’s more than two things, Dom.”

“Then it’s your job to help me keep it all straight.”

Brian chuckled low and raspy, curling his fingers in Dom’s chain. “That’s the last thing I’m gonna do.”

Dom didn’t dare to correct him. Content to just let it ride until later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Apologies for the delay in posting my summer break is over and I've been thrown back to the wolves.
> 
> translations:  
> chisme: gossip  
> buena suerte: good luck  
> tres leches: a delicious dessert


	10. ten (look for ways to say)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The GT-R's done and there's a lot of talk about history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.
> 
> Title from The Glitch Mob's [Between Two Points](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nrGhZmpoIDc).
> 
> A/N 1: Music is very important in this chapter. I’ve embedded links to the songs on YouTube where they appear in the fic. I highly recommend giving these songs a listen when they’re referenced. Eventually, I’ll have a playlist compiled for the story on the series page.
> 
> A$AP Rocky- [L$D](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yEG2VTHS9yg)
> 
> Alina Baraz & Galimatias- [Make You Feel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MUmjKCjeu1A)
> 
> Aimee Mann- [Save Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4c48vs4lwgc&list=RD4c48vs4lwgc)
> 
> A/N 2: Dom's struggle with his feelings for Brian and what that means on a larger level will take more time to resolve. He's always been pretty rigid with how he's envisioned himself and his place in life. His relationship with Brian challenges the expectations that he and others have placed on him and he constantly weighs his relationship against his Lompoc and racing experiences since they've been such huge influences on his life and identity. So expect frequent brushes with internalized homophobia. 
> 
> A/N 3: Many Easter eggs from the franchise are nestled within this chapter.
> 
> A/N 4: Hurt/Comfort ahead.
> 
> A/N 5: Again, thank you, thank you, thank you for your patience. The next parts will be posted much sooner. 
> 
> As always, concrit is appreciated and enjoy!

The end of the GT-R’s restoration wrapped up on a too bright, muggy afternoon, only ten days out from Race Wars. Unlike other jobs, this one had an audience as Brian and Jesse gave the engine one last hard look and Suki ran her hands over the blue cresting decals riding above the side skirt.

“So final verdict?” Dom asked from his position standing with the rest of the audience.

Brian and Jesse shared a triumphant look, causing Jesse to whoop and pump his fists as Brian finally dropped the hood, moving towards the driver’s side door. He paused after one final look at the robot silver body. “I think she’s good. What about you, Jess? You think she’s ready for her debut?”

That natural fount of endless energy had Jesse bouncing from foot to foot, small hops mimicking a boxer’s shuffle until Leon partially draped himself over Jesse’s shoulders to anchor his excitement.

“She’s a classy lady. Probably the classiest lady I know--”

“Excuse you--” Mia interjected with a glare that clearly highlighted the shared genes between her and Dom.

Letty snaked a cool look under the rim of her shades at him. “—that’s because you aren’t so great at knowing quality when it’s staring you in the face, Jess…” She said, making him wince.

Feeling sorry about the mine the kid had most definitely unintentionally unearthed, Dom stepped in, laying the matter to rest. “Okay, so his mouth got away from him a little bit. I’ll help him take his foot outta his mouth so we can get to the good stuff.” Which was met with general agreement.

Jesse offered Dom a grateful look. “Yeah, so, um, I think so. But we should just let the lady speak for herself…” He trailed off grumbling about keeping his mouth and feet from meeting again which earned him a short, hard scrub of Leon’s knuckles over the top of his head.

Poor kid had stepped in it and was furiously trying not to spread his mess about, so he leaned into the ribbing coming his way.

Brian took the pressure off Jesse by getting behind the wheel and briefly pausing before turning the engine over.

In the span of that pause, the swell in occupancy of the garage finally registered on Dom. The majority standing around in wait were as expected: Vince, Leon, Letty, Jesse, and Mia. The other faction of Brian, Giselle, Suki, and the twins had become a common sight over the peak weeks of the summer and fit in well. Even though they were missing Rome, Tej was present via Skype which made Dom feel that the setup demonstrated some next level commitment to family solidarity and made him feel just the slightest bit old. Not to forget Han who wasn’t there but had come to an understanding with Dom that had them leaning closer towards friends than not. The people in this room all fit smoothly into his life in some configuration and that realization wasn’t startling to him in the least. Not when he took the time to assemble the pieces and realize that his life was almost as complete as when he was a kid with his parents still around.

He felt the brush of Brian’s eyes on him, drawing him back into the wait, and offered him an encouraging nod to let the GT-R do her thing. So Brian turned the key, making the GT-R’s engine sing like she was going for all the money.

Jesse’s arms shot into the air after a sudden victorious clap. “Victory!” He yelled while Leon wolf whistled and everyone else clapped.

Brian’s grin widened as the GT-R purred so sweetly that Dom could see visions of quarter miles to come dancing in the bright blue of his eyes.

Suki moved towards the car and did a slow three-sixty around the body so that Tej could get the full experience of the moment despite being across town toiling at work. When she got back to the driver’s seat, Brian took the phone from her to accept more congrats directly from his brother.

Tej’s tinny voice was a low susurrus compared to the growing epicenter of celebration that was shifting towards the break area. “So new manifold, injector plates, turbocharger…and I saw that new side skirt you put on your girl, Po-Po. Be careful, someone may try to get close to her.”

Brian shook his head once as he barked out an incredulous laugh. “I’d like to see them try.” He popped open the door and angled the phone around to give Tej another view. “Oh yeah, we gave her new external and interior side skirts, so if anyone’s getting close enough to look then they better’ve been invited. Otherwise, my lady will show just how much kick she’s really got.”

Again, the brothers shared a laugh.

Brian turned Tej around to face him. “Alright, Bri, congrats again. You said you had a plan for your girl and now look at her. She may have been down but she was never outta it completely. Can’t wait to see her back on Broadway or her next go at side show action.” Tej whistled appreciatively. “Hell, I can almost see the smile on the bursar’s face in the registrar’s office when I bring her that fat check, bruh.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see her stunt on everyone else either. But don’t bring up the USC beast until we actually have to feed it or until our pockets are done with hunger pangs.” Brian gestured Suki over to take back her phone, “Anyway, Tej, get back to work before the boss makes you drop and give ‘em twenty.” Tej’s response on screen made Brian chuckle. “I’ll even promise you’ll get first dibs on taking her up the block when I get home.”

Tej echoed Jesse’s early whoop. “That’s a deal, Po-Po. Thanks for the hook-up, Suk.”

She worked her head in beside Brian’s in the camera’s view. “You’re welcome. Buh-bye!”

“Later.” Tej said, then ended the connection.

So they were lucky that business had been squared away first, because the impromptu _fiesta-siesta_ in progress—not that they needed much prompting—had taken over the rest of the day.

Before Mia had first dropped in during the latter part of the morning, she’d brought a fresh carafe of Cuban coffee and _pastelitos_ to get them through the doldrums of busy work until it was officially time to play. Not that Dom had been able to snag more than one of the tiny cups. His dedication to clearing all his work had made him the slow antelope in the mad dash for food, so now he was totally free to play but also he had earned the pleasure of staring down at crumbs in the bottom of the box.

Snooze and lose, right? Now hungry, he was getting ready to get the consensus on pizza when Mia called attention her way after she snapped a picture of the twins propped up in the driver’s seat.

Even he could admit that seeing the twins behind the wheel was the definition of freaking adorable. _Double Trouble_ , as Vince liked to call them, had now mastered the art of sitting up and partially propping themselves up with little help, except from each other. They edged beyond adorable to clutch-your-heart-cute once Suki gave each a plush teething ring with rainbow keys to chew on. Now, they flashed a wink or smile with too much gums and the pictures practically took themselves.

Dom gave in to the impulse to chuckle, because the littlest O’Conners were drivers in the making and baby models in the present.

Mia snapped one last picture, her eyes nearly forming hearts as she gazed down at the screen. “Jess was right about celebrating.” She declared after giving her phone one last fawning look.

“Yeah, it’s time to party-party-party!” Vince chanted, still buzzing on the too-strong caffeine infusion from the _cafecito_.

“Right,” Mia agreed though a curious smile crossed her face. “We’ll celebrate definitely but we’re gonna to do something _different_ this time.” When she dropped the word _different_ , her eyes were squarely on her brother who she challenged unexpectedly.

“How different?” Dom’s forehead knotted as he asked.

Mia pointed to the assembly behind her, comprised of Letty, Suki and Giselle. “Since you’re done with the jobs here and Han has the store under control, me and these other fine ladies are gonna peace out and have a girls’ day.”

That strangled sound that came from behind Dom was Vince nearly choking on his tongue. Because they all knew Letty’s _No Chick Flicks_ policy; much like most businesses had a no _shirt, no shoes, no service rule_ , Letty’s steadfast opposition to anything she perceived as too girly was universally known. So her deciding to hang with the girls was like watching a solar eclipse…in reverse.

Leon nodded, “Okay.” Confusion heavy in his voice. “But seriously? Chicks only?”

Mia grinned broadly. “Guys, I know none of you have forgotten about Rome’s birthday, so we can celebrate all we like tomorrow night but we need to do something with the littles today.”

From the cat-like slanting of Giselle’s eyes, Dom could read that being referred to as a _little_ irked her as the title was prone to do when stuck in the No Man’s Land between childhood and adulthood. Nevertheless, the girl would jump at the chance to hang out with Letty.

Brian dug a couple of bills out of his pocket and handed them over to Suki. “Cool with me,” he declared, appearing completely unfazed by Mia and Letty absconding with his baby sisters. “Just be back by the time the streetlights come on and don’t make the papers.”

Suki rolled her eyes as she counted the cash he’d forked over. “You know we aim for CNN or bust,” she argued playfully and darted in to give him a brief half-hug. “Make the papers, Po-Po? You’re so old,” Suki beamed as Brian took his turn to roll his eyes at her.

Brian reeled Giselle in for the same treatment, though she took hers albeit reluctantly as she had entered the height of the teenage _too-cool for this_ crosswinds. “Since I’m so old, I think I need you to remind me where the bailout fund is again.” Brian said and briefly flinched as Giselle pinched him for being an intolerable smartass. Vince might have snickered but one look from Little G dried up his brief amusement faster than Death Valley in August.

Giselle shouldered her way out of Brian’s hug without moving too far. “You try so hard to be funny, Po-Po but still so far to go.” After reaching into her pocket, she produced a small box and handed it to him. “Maybe this will give you some luck with your problem.”

Brian gave the little box a curious look while Suki and Mia rearranged the twins back into their carriers.

Letty was still in the process of flicking off Leon and Vince as they threw soap operatic gasps her way to demonstrate their shock and also just because they loved to piss her off. Though Jesse held back like the smart man that he was.

“Bring me something.” He asked her. Jesse knew from experience that pissing Letty off carried returns he and his balls would rather not pay.

Letty rewarded him with one of those rare straight on grins that made her appear soft and girlish. “Sure, if we can get outta here.” She stood in the open mouth of the Nissan’s door. “We need signed permission slips or can we jet already?”

Mia could weather Letty’s sharp edges with a deftness that never left her bruised. She herded the girls towards the open bay and Letty’s waiting car with a final promise to Brian. “I’ll definitely have them back by the time the lights go up.” Then she put her focus on Dom which made him instinctually steel himself. “Feels like a good day for Cuban food. Just a suggestion, Mano.”

Then the girls were gone in one long angry growl of Letty’s Nissan.

Dom followed Brian over to the worktable that Twink and Tank rested on. Like everyone else, the twins were at home in the garage these days, finding where their baby jail resided to be good enough to keep them amused and rarely fussy. Plus, the way they reacted to Dom meant that he’d been placed in the same category as the familiar faces in their little sphere of influence.

Funny, how he couldn’t look back on his first foray into babysitting without a twinge of panic at the thought. But he’d survived, hadn’t broken one or both of the twins, and walked away with another skill added to his list of many. Proving once again that he wasn’t called king for nothing.                                                               

The twins had a thing for keys—both real and plush, so as Brian jangled his simple silver ring above their heads, their little faces lit up and spit damp fingers reached out to grab them.

“I was serious about the bail money thing. You think me and Rome can get into some crazy shit? Suki and Giselle are gonna make me go gray be thirty.” He danced the keys out of reach but they continued trying to grab them, something that Dom was sure that they would finally achieve when they were old enough to reach the pedals.

Dom was familiar with the little sisters causing big trouble phase. “One time, Mia and Letty decided to do a little joyriding and ended up cruising through a retaining wall in Boyle Heights.” To Brian’s questioning glance, he said, “I still don’t know what that wild ride was all about, so answers are something I just ain’t got.”

Though standing beside Brian, the net of Dom’s attention remained broad enough to keep tabs on the think-tank in the back corner. Dom continued on, “Naw, we don’t have a rainy day stash for bail money. Just plans to pull a prison break if we have to.”

His tone was just flat enough that he expected Brian to ask if he were serious. Instead he caught Brian’s brief brow raise before he doubled back to the twins. If he had asked, then Dom would’ve told him it wasn’t a joke. At least, it hadn’t been a joke when Mia told him her plan, should the jackings go sideways. His baby sister was a genius after all—innocent, yes, but smarter and possessing a broader vision than even he could give her credit for.

Just the thought of going back to Lompoc shed years off his life, but knowing Mia was in his corner made that fear drastically less.

Either way, he was sure Brian had experience with something similar in his periphery.

Vince’s voice carried from the back. “If they’re doin’ a chick’s day, it’s only fair that we do a guys’ day or whatever.” Which was seconded by Leon, Jesse, and surprisingly Tank who screeched loudly. “I vote for Fat Burger’s secret menu.” Because food was always one of the top two solutions to most of Vince’s problems.

As much as Dom loved Vince for being his best bro since the cradle, Dom imagined following Vince into this little adventure would be like watching a snake unhinge its jaw over and over again until it was close to bursting.

“Uh--” Jesse began and paused with his thoughts spooling like a cassette tape on rewind. “Not to be a dream killer, V, but I heard the Fat Burger secret menu is all veggie stuff.” Brian failed to hide his snort as Vince uttered a gasp so dramatic, he would’ve been at home on a PBS special.

Then Jesse said, “How about something less…greasy?” He offered up diplomatically. The kid had already managed to skirt one disaster; the last thing he needed was to end the day with a bloody nub for getting caught between Vince and his food.

Leon stepped in with a snap of his fingers, moving over to Jesse like the kid had a proverbial light bulb hanging over his head. “Since Rome’s big day is tomorrow, maybe we should do some other rite of passage.”

“What d’you have in mind?” Dom knew whatever Leon proposed wasn’t sure to upset his appetite or give him nightmares.

On second thought, he might as well prepare himself for the worst.

Leon rolled up the sleeves on his work shirt to expose the arms. “Yo Jess, since you like my ink so much, I’ve been thinkin’ your first tat should say somethin’ like B _oy Genius_ or _Jimmy Neutron_ cuz you’re our favorite mad scientist.”

While Vince and Leon tried to persuade the kid to actually take the challenge to get some ink, Dom found his focus shift to the GT-R which was looking fine and ready from every angle for some serious sun exposure.

It had come a long way since that first night when he’d taken Brian back to his house for the afterparty. Now that the GT-R was back in fighting shape, it was time for Dom to deliver on that promise he’d made when he’d chased Brian down the steps.

“How about that ten second ride? I’m sure the GT-R’s up for it now.” When Brian’s grin turned cheeky, Dom added, “A censored one,” in reference to the twins being right there. Sure, they’d blown through _that other ten second ride_ weeks before but this one had a special shine to it.

Not deterred by their mini-audience, who Brian constantly argued understood the nature of things far more than Dom gave them credit for, Brian countered with, “At least make it PG-13 to keep it interesting.”

“Always pushing the stakes, O’Conner. That’ll get you in trouble one day.”

“Like you’d have it any other way.” Brian’s grin could’ve blinded the sun just then. Of course he was right: Dom was just as guilty for wanting to skirt the limits on each rule in his life.

Dom agreed with Vince’s call for a boys’ afternoon but the circle of invitees was limited to two—or really four, since wherever Brian went the twins were sure to follow. Add in Mia reminding him about the place on Figueroa which was another stick in a pile of reasons to finally talk to her, plus his actual hunger and curiosity to see what Brian’s baby could do got him set on getting them out of the garage and most definitely alone.

His time with Brian was even shorter now that they’d agreed to the moratorium on Dom popping in over at the club. Nights like the one after the unofficial-official alliance of Bullitt with Team Toretto where he got Brian with a minimal series of interruptions had become fewer still. So Dom was very eager to say the least.

His Mami had teased him that he’d been her _Tito Gordito_ as a little kid, a time that Dom couldn’t remember, where he’d been a greedy little butterball. He’d stopped being the butterball long ago but the greed lingered and usually it was the rush of adrenaline from literally steering his life in one direction as fast as possible that sated that feeling. But now? With Brian? It was harder and harder to find complete satisfaction.

“The deal’s on.” One of those soggy baby keyrings caught Dom across the chest. “Let’s raincheck that for later. Right now, I wanna know if you do shrimp?” Asked Dom as he eyed the wet stain below his name.

Brian scratched his chin gently with the edge of a fingernail as Dom swooped low to gather Tank’s toy. “You wanna know if I do shrimp? Here’s how it goes: I’m pretty sure the stuff we’ve been eating in the rice from the Chinese spot a couple of blocks from the house has shrimp in it, so, yeah, I do.”

It wasn’t Figueroa that Dom was thinking of but this place had plenty of air to spare and came with enough distance to not worry about crossing paths with familiar faces. Plus, the food wasn’t bad either.

“I’ll introduce you to the best shrimp along the PCH and cold beer, too—not that we can do much damage there.” Dom estimated that the twins were due for a nap sooner or later and the droop in Twink’s eyelids was a promising sign. With all signs pointing to yes, he added, “I’m buying,” to sweeten the deal.

“With options like these, I wish I’d brought my Magic Eight Ball. Cuz shrimp—that you’re springing for is awesome—but watching Jess get his first ink is gonna rank up there with these two walking and you admitting you think my skills are kickass.”

In the back, Vince and Leon went about petitioning Jesse with wilder and wilder promises of tattoo glory and badass dreams.

Brian started talking again with a firm eye on the action in the back. “But then, I kinda feel like we should take him with us because this feels like one of those moments when adult supervision is required.”

_Yeah, no_ , Dom thought. Dom loved Jess like a little brother, sure, but there would be no more hop-ons onto this ride. The protective glint in Brian’s eyes was another feature of his that Dom admired, but right now Big Brother Mode needed to settle down into hibernation, because contrary to Jesse’s youth, he wasn’t exactly a kid in need of protection.

Dom ensured that his words didn’t come out too hastily. “They’ll be fine.” Then he motioned towards the GT-R. After a moment, Brian snagged Twink’s carseat with one hand and slung the carry-all backpack over his shoulder with the other one then began moving towards the car.

He didn’t walk away quietly; instead he spared the scheming trio a final glance that seemed to be actively assessing whether there was some man-child endangerment potentially taking place.

“If Jess comes back with ink that looks like a unicorn riding on a turtle then that’s on you, Dom. Cuz you definitely had the power to wrap this up.” Brian called over his shoulder. “Like Captain Planet says, _the power is yours_.”

Dom would not be guilted for ducking out on Boys’ Day by way of Brian dropping a cartoon character’s platitude; so he rolled his eyes and soldiered on. “Yeah, he knows where to send the bill,” Dom muttered before addressing the others. “Yo, V, we’re out. Lock up before you go and I’ll meet you guys back at the house.”

To his credit, Vince didn’t immediate jump to scowling, or truthfully, manly pouting, in the face of Dom leaving. “Dom, seriously, dawg…what happened to guys’ day? I can’t believe you’re gonna dip out on us.” Vince was maturing like wine: slowly. His smooth handling of Operation Baby Drop proved that care and finesse didn’t only apply to the way he handled his car, his guitar, or, at times, Mia.

Dom picked up Tank and followed after Brian towards the GT-R. “I’d be up for your tattoo parlor crawl if my tank wasn’t on E, cuz somebody--”he pointed accusingly at the trio, “—decided to horde the comida like winter was comin’--” which was something that Tej kept saying and had stuck inside Dom’s brain, “so I gotta head out before my gut starts sounding like Mr. Perez’s old Chevy.”

The Chevy in question had been nightmare fuel when they were kids. It eased through the neighborhood with a bulldozer-like growl that hungered for gravel and the screams of bad children that it feasted on for fuel. His Pop had always reminded their little group of that feasting, especially when they were being little shits.

Leon didn’t mind Dom’s departure. Just waved him on, still caught up in his own visions of Jesse’s first ink. “You go do that, Dom. We know what the low blood sugar beast looks like so we’ll let Brian take a crack at dealing with that.”

Now Vince snorted a laugh. “Yeah, Blondie, have fun taming that _beast_.” Then the implication of said taming settled in. Like five-four-three-two-one, Vince went red. “Y’know what I mean,” he mumbled, walking away.

“Speaking from experience, Vince?” Brian straightened up from securing Twink in the back. “I’ve survived a cool dozen foster homes, infants with the runs, and watchin’ you eat, so I think I can handle him.”

Leon and Jesse snickered away like a pair of old ladies while Vince’s face oscillated between anger and silent promises of vengeance.

When Dom surrendered Tank’s car seat to Brian, the look he received telegraphed that Brian was still too amused—according to Dom—by his inability to secure the car seats in the back.

Brian and Giselle had shown him how the straps were worked through the slits in the backseat but Dom still contended that not only was an expert hand required but a little experience in magic was required in order to pull that shit off. The fact that Vince could slide the twins in and out and lock them down in a blink, continuously dumbfounded him, supplying Dom with burning questions about Vince’s legitimate claim to fame of baby whispering.

Finally settled for the ride, the GT-R eased out of the garage and, as they began to cruise, Brian asked, “I need something other than _a place on the PCH_ to get us there. I think the GPS will revolt if I try to put that in and you don’t know how pissed she’ll be if you try to challenge her.”

“The only challenge I wanna see is if we can get ten seconds outta her,” he pointed to the dash and then flicked his fingers to the backseat, “but with them along, I don’t think you’ll be taking on any newcomers.”

Brian smiled as he looked up at the rearview mirror. “Not today.”

“So, since we’re gonna move about like regular law abiding citizens, then let’s hit the 110 to the 105 and the PCH heading north. I’ll let you know when to stop.”

Brian answered by tossing a sideways grin at him then goosed the engine.

For the next few minutes, there was nothing to do other than be a good passenger. Riding shotgun stopped being fun around the time Dom first got his license. Honestly, it stopped being fun when his Pop started letting him drive the cars behind the shop. With Brian though, that same restlessness eased back until it was mellow enough to just roll with the GT-R’s smooth motion.

Despite not having a wheel, they remained nearly perfectly in sync as Dom anticipated Brian’s motions across the road. The music that wafted out of the speakers was moody and atmospheric—hypnotizing over the buzz of the engine and the quiet transition between gears. It was a tune that Dom hadn’t given much attention; now he wondered if this song was used for work rather than pleasure. Imagined how Brian would move to it as the melody reverbed off the glass while Brian changed lanes, easing towards a red light and the bee yellow of a new Lambo.

The Lambo’s driver wasn’t impressed with the GT-R. The snotty look he gave them, partially obscured by the black of his shades, dripped with arrogance and the presumption that money was the only arbiter of power.  

“Normally, I’d advise you to smoke ‘em—” Because that’s what the Fabio-imitator and his trophy wife deserved. “—but being the responsible adults that we are, I think they’re gonna get the One Free Pass of the day.” Should they meet again, there would be no promises.

Brian pushed up his shades to watch the twins in the rearview mirror. “What do you say, guys? Think we should listen to Dom?” The twins remained quiet. “—or do you think we should teach the rude dude a little lesson?” Of course, the twins agreed with a stream of baby babble.

The shades slide down to cover Brian’s eyes again. “I think you have your answer, Dom.” Not even walking and the Twins were already fully down for being Brian’s partners in crime.

“Troublemakers, all of you.” The Lambo driver was still smirking while the light remained stubbornly red. “Smoke ‘em…carefully though.”

“There’s no other way.” The GT-R answered the Lambo’s angry buzz with a kittenish purr.

Within a blink, the light went from red to green then Brian was moving through the intersection as the ghost of _smoke ‘em_ hung in the air. The lanes were long and straight, clear for about a third of a mile until the next streetlight came up. The Lambo was at least two car lengths behind and losing ground by the second.

Once securely ahead, Dom gave the song some consideration again. “You got a new set list yet? I know Sophie likes final approval.”

He associated Brian with music, too. Not only the songs he used for work but intermittent bangers and slow jamz that popped up above the surface of musical milieu. Points of sound like the white caps on waves that rose foamy and resonant, sticking with Dom long after he’d closed his eyes and tried to look for dreams that were burden free. In that dark, where he found Brian, was always better.

“Actually, I have.” Brian said without further elaboration and simply kept his eyes on the road.

Not wanting to travel the next twenty minutes with just the sound system supplying noise over the occasional _click-clack-rattle_ of the twins’ activity bars, Dom figured he could mine for other conversation points.

“From the way Rome tells it, tomorrow night just might end up as a MTV special. Your brother’s invitations alone are gonna make him legendary— _Roman’s Baller Bash_. I don’t envy you tryin’ to wrangle that all for a night. Kid’s already spinnin’ round like a hurricane in August.”

Brian’s fingers danced over the gear shift as he made an amused sound. “Everyone gets one, y’know? Tomorrow night is his night and since he wanted a _Baller Bash_ , he’s gettin’ it and everything else that comes with having a party at Club Fury: private suite, comped drinks, surprises...”

“I hope those surprises don’t involve someone you know jumping outta cake. But you do you, high roller. How’d you swing this anyway?”

Until now, Dom had assumed Rome’s party would be the typical backyard jam that spilled over into a semi-block party. Brian enlightening him to the actual venue was a shock: one) because Club Fury was the place that real ballers—those that were athletically and/or musically inclined swung with money to burn and two) the shit that went down beyond its velvet rope bred urban legend.

“We’re pulling this thing off cuz of planning way, way, way far ahead. Like, saving up since last Christmas for this. But even that wasn’t enough, so I had to call in a ton of favors.” Dom gestured him for to give examples. “I know this bartender who’s working his way up to being on the door and guess who his cousin is? You only get one shot, by the way.”

“Hector?”

Brian nodded. “So to get us in—all fifteen, if Rome’s count is right, we traded two quinceañera dresses for Hector’s other two little cousins up in Oxnard, a bachelorette party, a free cable and Wi-Fi hook-up, and free _tutoring services_ for the next semester.”

Dom easily sorted which offer came from which sibling but the tutoring package was unexpected. “So, definitely not meth after all that G is slinging around town?” He rolled over the thought as Brian nodded. “At least tutoring is respectable; you oughtta be proud.”

Brian shrugged as he slouched low in the bucket seat, sunlight making streaks over the wall of his shades as they sailed down the PCH. “Yeah, we kinda lucked out with the meth thing. No, _seriously_ — ” He dropped in quickly after catching Dom’s small disbelieving chuckle. “Giselle’s got an uncle,” the preceding _play-play_ qualifier loomed in Brian’s description, slotting the guy into a familiar place that had introduced Dom to a merry-go-round of tias, tios, zie, and zii. “ --up in Riverside who rides with this club in NorCal and has been promising to get G a bike since she turned ten. Anyway, they’re into some pretty heavy shady shit—like don’t turn on a light bulb in a dark room cuz you could be implicated shit—and I thought he was rubbing off on her too much.”

“He a one-percenter?” Dom had met a few in Lompoc. Like any other clique, they rolled through the halls in numbers, never swarms per protocol, only able to flash ink under the C.O.’s eyes, and always made their presence felt. Since Dom’s thing was cars—cages, according to the two-wheelers—it offered enough cred to buy him some good will shored up on a common foundation of gearhead brotherhood. His stay had been free of any bloody tangoing with the other riders of the long road.

“Probably a half-percenter.” And Jesus, just like that, the awful jokes returned. “Apparently, I didn’t need to worry cuz G listened to his business lessons and made them into her own thing. So she may or may not have access to certain highly desired resources that could save the asses of kids that are dragging ass in school or just aren’t getting it. G found the ultimate demand and she’s the only one around with a supply and she’s smart enough not to get caught.”

Giselle having a one-percenter for as an adoptive uncle made sense given how the girl was so unlike her brothers and sister and favored crotch rockets over cages any day. That little bike of hers was a cruiser in the making. “You actually sound proud that your baby sister hustles test answers and homework for cash.” In the buttery afternoon glow of this conversation, Vince’s comparison of Giselle to baby tiger rang true: cute as hell now but packing sharp teeth in time.

“Hey, it’s still tutoring if someone learns from it, right? And yeah, I’m proud of her. She understands that hustle is just another word for family, so as long as she gets that at the core, then I’m fine with whatever she does.”

Dom would remember that: hustle and family were six letters that were tied together in a long string of cause and effect. The cause of many actions set in the positive or negative and the effects always traveling back to be revisited on the family.

“You said fifteen invitees. I know nine, maybe ten. Are the rest coming from the club?” _Please no Frick and Frack. Please_ , Dom silently hoped.

Again, Brian nodded. “Sophie’s taking the night off and some of the guys from the club are gonna roll through when they’re done…Nobody we’re not already copacetic with at the moment is invited.”

Dom felt like he’d dodged some sort of cosmic bullet with the guest list reveal. “It’s cool that you’re so gung-ho for birthdays.”

Brian’s shrugged initially in answer. He curled a hand loosely into the steering wheel as the speed dropped, then started on nonchalantly, “It’s the one thing we tried to keep up when we were in the system. When me and Rome got older, it became easier to hop on a bus or cruise to wherever to see the others. Sometimes, we were lucky and there were good foster parents who let us meet up; otherwise, we did it on the sly—snuck out and found a place to meet. So now that splitting up really isn’t a problem anymore, we try to make up for all the shitty ones that came before.”

Dom struggled, he could admit, when Brian unveiled bits and pieces of his history that were so tattered and battle-worn, rubbed down to scars so smooth that they didn’t hurt any longer, or didn’t hurt Brian to talk about them, but left Dom aching after listening. Dom only had his imagination and the short disconnect from Mia during his time in Lompoc as a comparison. The chaos that Brian described—always without flinching, kept coming up the deeper Dom got, was always deflected, even though his past and present converged every day of his life—just looking into the backseat proved Dom’s point—and directed each movement forward. Dom didn’t have the whole story, just the few facts being these: they were split up, they struggled; they kept coming together; they struggled—rinse and repeat until now.

The concept of family had been drilled into Dom since he was old enough to connect faces to names; he lived it, studied it, and learned it. But this family—Brian and his kids—demonstrated how elastic the bonds could actually be. Shit, if he didn’t already, then he just might want Brian just a little bit more because of it.

The restaurant faced northwest on a sloping cliff-side that fed into a turbulent stretch of California beach. Under the afternoon sun, the perennial Christmas lights twinkled and the airy sounds of cantina guitars wafted out beneath the open arms of the factory-made thatched roof.

As they pulled into the lot, Brian inspected the place through the windshield and after coming to an acceptable conclusion, he asked, “My hepatitis radar isn’t going off. You’re making me not sure what to think of this place. It might be above my pay grade.” Because greasy diners and old barrio cafes were more his style.

“I can promise no hepatitis, though I can’t say that you won’t leave food drunk.”

“Hey, we don’t do drunk driving, food wasted included.” Brian joked. “ But if that’s gonna be my fate, then here’s your notice that you’ll be driving back.”

“I see what you’re tryin’ to do—make me work to get my ten second ride.”

Brian cracked a wry grin and got to work on extricating the first twin. “Just remember: PG. Probably the only time in my life I’ll ever say that but we gotta start early with those good examples, right?” That grin incited the opposite of clean innuendo and hands above the waist, but Dom would follow Brian’s directions, as frustrating as they might have been.

Dom made easy work of getting the second twin from the backseat. His effort was rewarded with one of Tank’s ear to ear congratulatory smiles that put his chubby cheeks and pinks gums on display. The kid was already shaping up to be a bright one by recognizing talent at such an early age.

They cut through the white gravel and arid sea dust of the parking lot to reach the wooden deck that wrapped around the body of the cantina like wings at rest. It was the type of place to lack pretention, expecting anyone who visited to be smart enough to plant themselves at one of the long picnic style tables in order to receive service.

Looking across the constellation of empty seats, a small shake of Brian’s head caught Dom’s attention from the corner of his eye, but not before his eyes landed on a solitary table stretched longitudinally against the railing that would have the sun slanting towards them.

“Not that one,” he looked towards the opposite side of the floor to continue the search.

“Any thoughts?” Brian asked.

While looking, Dom said, “Yeah, just one: I can keep it clean, no problem. Just remindin’ you that we still have a lot to test out. Don’t worry ‘bout me keeping it respectable: I pay taxes and do my civic duty.” He turned the bullshit up to full max which was only to be expected. “Just like right now,” he nodded, pointing out a prime spot.

The perfect spot was upwind of the bar but three tables in from the sun and only boasted one couple close by—a pair of chilling out retirees—and a semi-decent line of sight towards the entrance. Dom’s heightened sense of situational awareness was one of the few, if the only positive thing, that he took away from Lompoc.

Once they reached the table, Brian did a quick assessment of the twins once they were placed on the tabletop. Tank’s sudden turn from grinning to rocking a downward pout and a drooping brow like a caveman watching a dwindling flame pointed to something foul headed their way.

Brian disengaged Tank from the remaining harness within point oh-five seconds and had the kid secured firmly yet downwind of any perceived splash zones. “Since I was just talking about keeping things clean, I need to do it for this guy.” They swapped twins in a flawless exchange. “I think it’s safe for you to continue thinking about that ten second ride but not too deeply. I don’t want you realizing you’ve made a challenge that you can’t beat, and trust me, Dom—fast or slow, any challenge I can handle. Just wanna make sure you can, too.” The opening crack of Tank’s groaning cry began, soundly pressing pause on Brian’s tempting warning. “You know I can handle _anything_.” He dropped as a parting shot.

Keeping things respectable meant that Dom should watch Twink and Twink only exclusively. The kid looked far from impressed. So much wisdom at six months, his pout proclaimed them to be s _o inappropriate_ and his Hulk onesie with its matching bib to be far more interesting than their shenanigans. Jesse had grumbled about the crossing of the streams—whatever that meant—since Twink had the Hulk and Tank wore the Flash.

“Yeah, kid, I know.” Dom said to his very captive yet unimpressed audience.

At the far table, the older couple chatted quietly together, eyes darting over every so often with the type of smiles directed at each other that came from years of fine tuning their relationship and knowing where that _just right_ spot was that made everything go so easily between them.

They looked nothing like his parents but there was a wealth of love so tangible between them that it could have been plucked like the twangy guitar chords streaming from the hidden speakers. Dom got a bittersweet feeling in his chest as he watched them. Memories of his parents flickered in his head like one of the old flip books that his abuelo had kept from his youth in the old country. His parents were the first real team he knew, feeding off each other and supporting one another in all decisions.

The lady with her fading California blond hair didn’t exude that same sauce and brass that radiated from his Mami’s every pore. Ask Dom or his Pop and they’d tell anyone that she was a twice saintly queen, even though she could curse in a braided stream of Spanish, English, and just enough Italian to make anyone blush. This lady wasn’t like that, but her maternal grin was hauntingly familiar.

Finally, she spoke to Dom after another round of catching her and her husband’s knowing smiles. “Your son is adorable.” Said the woman, making Dom silently choke on a mouthful of air.

_Not my kid_ , he could’ve said which would result in more questions than Dom genuinely had a desire to answer. He opted to say, “Thanks,” and sent up a mental thank you to the man upstairs for the waitress appearing with a pair of tall-backed high chairs for the twins and disappearing again until it was time to order.

He knew it was to be expected when you see a dude with a baby, that expectation being that the kid was his, and considering that Twink looked more like him—superficially—than Tank, then it was a realistic guess.

The comment didn’t bother Dom necessarily, but it didn’t rest easy with him either. He wondered how Brian dealt with the speculation.

He earned his congratulations after he transferred Twink to the high chair, his hands smooth—so freaking steady that he could’ve earned his stripes at this babysitting thing. Not that he considered himself an expert when it came to the twins, but he was pretty damn good with them. Even Giselle had approved and getting the thirteen year old’s approval was like cracking a rubix cube while standing upside down.

Twink sat up, using the tabletop for leverage and swiveled his head around to take in the world. His eyes growing big and bright as the couple made the common foolish faces and baby talk that seemed to kick all babies into high gear. But when he saw Brian, Dom had to shoot his hand out in an imitation of a _do not cross_ bar which pressed against the infant’s chest as he wobbled tipsily like a New Year’s drunk as his brothers approached.

Tank had the same reaction as Twink but kicked up the volume as he stretched out his little arms towards his brother and wobbled against Brian’s chest as he tried to breach the distance. When his head started dipping too far south, Brian readjusted his hold to keep him and his big head from losing a fight with gravity.

“Alright, Bud,” Brian shushed Tank while giving Dom a surprised look at the appearance of the big chairs at the end of the table. Dom moved to help him get Tank settled which wasn’t needed because Brian was long experienced in handling both twins with one hand while doing a half-dozen things with the free one.

Once Tank and Twink were side by side again, Brian motioned each through a high five. “See, guys, now you’re ready to hang out like big boys.”

By this time, the couple was preparing to pay their bill up front at the register. They drifted over towards Brian and Dom’s table. The wife continued making funny faces to  amuse the boys while the husband nodded at Dom but spoke to Brian this time. “I wish our son had been as well behaved as yours. Then we could’ve gotten out of the house more instead of having to wait about twenty years.” He crooked his finger playfully at Tank first then Twink. “You’re lucky they’re this good now. Just wait until they turn two and you’ll be praying for these days again.”

Then they went on their way, leaving Dom and Brian to their quiet amusement.

When the waitress came back, Brian deferred to Dom’s recommendation since it was his idea that they come to the cantina. The place was one of those hidden gems that had been open since the thirties and had been able to maintain the same menu despite several changes in ownership. So anything on the menu was tried and true—a genuine house favorite, so ordering their _Camarones_ Corral was exactly what they needed.

Dom made a point of only ordering the one because one) it was huge, capable of feeding more than two people, and two) Dom was aware of Brian’s _Brianisms_ , his little idiosyncrasies that Dom began to wise up to fairly early; most notably was Brian sharing anything he ate. The night in café hadn’t been the only one when he and Dom had shared a plate, usually at Brian’s insistence, still miles different from what Dom had experienced with Letty. He acted more like a lioness rather than the alpha wolf, always ensuring that his cubs ate before himself, then polished off whatever was left—mostly by Suki and Giselle, because Rome barely left the plate intact when he was done.

So it was a thing that Dom knew to steer clear of messing with. The one time he tried to bring it up, the looks Giselle and Suki gave him were so dark and in-sync that Dom had to agree with Vince’s Jurassic Park comparison. He made a hard turn back and away to keep the adolescent Raptor Pack off his back. Luckily, neither girl had quite so large teeth to back up those feral glares.

Dom asked Brian, “You think you’ll ever end up like them?”

“What d’ya mean? Do I think I’ll be old or comfortable enough to just hang out in the middle of the day?” A ton of cheek in his answer. “Cuz I think we’re already doing one of those things right now.”

“Besides the obvious,” Dom replied, considering what he’d be doing a year from now, possibly ten from then. Because three months ago, he couldn’t have imagined himself sitting across from a dude thinking about how much he wanted to kiss him or wondering if Brian had brought the mini-plush car set in his baby backpack so that the twins could be kept busy.

Time changed the beginning and ending to all roads. The question was where he—no, where _they_ were headed.

Instead Dom double-backed to before, bringing up the couple. “You and Tank don’t look alike beyond the obvious--”

“Yeah, I have more hair and a head proportionate to my body.” Brian laughed as the twins babbled back and forth, hands occasionally slapping their lap bars. “But I get you.” Meaning Dom’s intention was clear.

“The lady thought Twink was mine.” Which again, between the two brothers, he seemed more likely than Brian to be his dad or brother. “I hadn’t really given kids any thought. They’re just that thing long into the future. But--” he rushed on to say because he could read the stiffening of Brian’s shoulders for the brewing typhoon of anger and disappointment of being told _naw, no kids for me_ , which wasn’t what Dom intended to say anyway. “—it doesn’t bother me. I just wanna know how you deal with people reading the situation wrong, cuz it’s easy for them to think they’re yours.”

“It doesn’t bother—lemme say, _now_ it doesn’t bother me. When we first got them, I got pissed that people made assumptions, but I’d just quit smoking, so I was irritated by the wind blowing, too, so.” The way Brian looked at them was saturated in big brother pride.

Dom hadn’t known Brian had smoked. Just another one of those hidden secrets that slowly rose to the surface with enough digging. Dom had never had the habit but Letty did on occasion. She and Leon usually snuck off when parties were making that inevitable slow crawl towards the end. He’d hated kissing her afterwards, had even justified following his wandering eye because of her smoking. He was an asshole to her, he reflected more and more.

“Guess I should offer you some congrats for kicking your habit.” His imagination crafted a picture of Brian in black and white, his body under the spotlight with a curl of smoke coming from his mouth, breathing hot as a dragon and eyes burning bright like torch embers. Fuck, the image went from his head down and there was nothing he could do about it.

Brian tipped his head much like a cowboy with a hat. “Don’t let anyone tell you it isn’t hard as hell. I still want ‘em sometimes, like when I’m stupidly stressed out…” He paused to mentally shift gears. “It doesn’t bother me when people think that I’m their dad. It’s fine cuz math and simple logic says _yeah, I could be their dad_. Doesn’t matter what people think. ‘S only important that people do think about it and you wanna know why? ”

“Hit me.”

“Because if they think I’m their dad, then they know that there’s someone out there who gives a shit about them. Who will most definitely go nuts for them and will get froggy with anyone who looks at them the wrong way.”

That bold line that said _do not cross_ flashed brightly. Dom had gotten more history from Brian today than in the months that preceded. Brian didn’t have the market on shitty childhoods cornered, but it was damn close. Brian’s willingness to defend his siblings at the slightest twitch of the breeze made Dom wonder who had done the same for Brian. If anyone had ever tried or if Brian had to be his own sword and shield—a constant defender of self which explained Brian’s relentless independence. It also explained why Dom was so drawn to wanting to take care of Brian, no matter how much resistance he had to grind against in order to do so.

“The only thing D.O.C. was good for was making us a family by finding women who were cool with doing the Russian doll thing with his kids. Find a new chick to marry and adopt her kids or have another one with her so that we were like the mismatched Brady Bunch until he eventually split.”

“How many times did he cut out on you guys?”

Brian shook his head once and grinned through his understated sadness. “More times than I can count. We’ve got six different moms. I’ll let you do the math from those possibilities alone. Tej tried once and the number was stupidly high so he quit.” The last statement made Dom sit up archly. “D.O.C. is the type of guy who doesn’t believe in staying in one place. He doesn’t believe in the idea like most people don’t believe in unicorns. But that’s what you expect from a guy who uses _free love_ as his life’s motto.”

“But your mom is gone.” Dom clarified.

Nodding, Brian kept his eyes on the point ahead and continued like the conversation was a path that he’d already traveled down without a desire to move backwards on. “Yeah, which is just how things happen sometimes. At last count though, Suki’s mom had been deported, Giselle’s was on the run—trust me, she was into shady shit that we still can’t figure out. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was a spy or something. Then, the twins’ mom is just M.I.A. Apparently, she pulled a D.O.C. before he could do the same thing to her. Actually got her parental rights terminated and peaced out, leaving him with a couple of infants.”

Those nearly nine years between him and Mia made a big difference in how they’d been raised. Dom couldn’t imagine his parents abandoning him for even a day without more family coming in to take up the slack. He’d lost his Mami quietly when he was eighteen then his Pop sudden and violently a few years later. Being without either still felt strange but to go through most of his life without them would’ve been an insurmountable torture. To know that one of his parents was still alive and just didn’t want to be with him and Mia would have destroyed him more efficiently than Lompoc had tried.

The tension between them was released as the waitress, whose timing was almost supernatural, arrived with the big platter of fried shrimp and the accompanying oversized cocktail glass loaded with shrimp ceviche, served Ecuadorian style instead of the Mexican iteration in popular Cali. Yeah, so a few extra sets and reps were to be expected later and he’d write the whole day off as a cheat day.

There was just one more thing from before to be said. Dom watched Brian pop a pair of pacifiers into the mouths of the twins and say, “When you get teeth, you can join the party. Til then suck on these and think about the future.”

_Oh, boy_. They were really stretching that PG-13 rating as far as they could go and Brian’s mouth was the one giving it a full workout.

So Dom waited with his fork poised to strike for Brian to try some first—his subtle way of reversing the tide, and once he had a solid mouthful, Dom speared a few for himself. The taste totally made up for his previous empty gut and its frustration at him for letting it go so long without being filled up. He laughed at the thought. “I hope you’re ready for what they’re gonna call you. You’re gonna be their Brother-Daddy since you’re, like, twenty years older than them.” He laughed in spite of Brian’s solitary finger reply. “Just sounds Deliverance-esque.”

“Then get those banjos ready!” Brian drawled with a perfectly adopted country twang. “Cuz they’ve got Brother-Daddy for as long as they need ‘im.”

They were nearly fifty percent into their bounty when Brian’s phone lit up and started vibrating across the wood. The screen filled by _Unknown Number_ across its face. Brian pressed the central button rejecting the call, a curious look crossing his face as he did. The ping of a waiting voicemail sounded seconds later. That, too, Brian ignored.

They continued eating until five minutes had passed before his phone was lighting up again in rapid succession as a barrage of texts filled up the screen.

Then just as suddenly, Brian’s phone went silent. Dom’s picked up where his left off, pinging twice in a clap of electric sound. He saw Letty’s name flash across the screen and swiped the right to read the message.

 [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35432709450/in/dateposted-public/)

When Brian’s phone actually started ringing, they shared a brief look and Dom gestured for Brian to get it. The ringtone had a Middle Eastern heavy beat looping through a defiant chorus of _Live fast, die young, bad girls do it well…_ _Live fast, die young, bad girls do it well_ , which Dom’s mind now synced up with Giselle.

Brian answered before the start of the second round. “Yo, G, what’s up?” Then Brian’s small shadow of a smile evaporated as soon as Giselle delivered her news. All signs were pointing to bad given Let’s text and the swarm that went directly to Brian.

Brian was already standing before he dropped the phone from his ear. “Shit.” Brian uttered once, now scrolling fast across the face of his phone. “—double shit,” he repeated.

The waitress’s magic was still going strong. She appeared at Dom’s elbow as he stood with the check and enough boxes to hold the remaining wealth of shrimp.

“What’s wrong?”

“Gotta get home, like, now…Why today?” Brian continued, obviously grousing aloud. “Goddammit, why today?” His voice shook like a thin wire charged with panic.

Dom threw down a handful of bills, way more than enough to cover the shrimp, his beer and Brian’s water. “Bri, what’s happening?” Because spying the repeated text of _5-o_ and _911_ , Dom thought that Brian’s question about bail money should have considered a matter of _when_ and not _if_. “Where are Suki and Giselle?” Letty had said to send Brian home ASAP.

In between the space of Brian answering his question, Dom might have sent up a prayer that they wouldn’t have to actually pony up bail money, Brian spoke. “They’re fine. They’re at home. The texts aren’t about cops. We’ve got a surprise visit.”

“From who?”

“Our social worker.”

* * *

The drive back to the house teased the GT-R’s renewed speed and made seductive promises that Dom wanted to see realized with each murmuring zip across the sunbaked street lines.

Maybe, it was the food now settling heavy in his gut and being doused in an infusion of sudden urgency that made him feel a vague headiness, not unlike walking that fine line of having one too many. Or maybe, it was just Brian’s choice of music: entirely too slow to match the rapid slide of the PCH back into the inner arteries of L.A., supplanting the silence, conjuring a spell that wove dreamscapes of perfect days where the only hurry came as a result of taking a bite out of lofty dreams, and the consequences were theirs for the taking.

Hearing about the O’Conners’ social worker reminded Dom of his P.O. who depending on how the wind blew vacillated between desiring to help Dom reacclimatize to life on the other side or send him back for being guilty of possibly everything under the sun, figuring he was just another lifelong con in the making.

The house was surrounded by cars: the _Ro-Machine_ front and center with Tej’s new pretty piecer that was good in theory but road terrible in the drive. Dom respected the kid’s hustle by him putting his heart under the hood and into the body. The specs were impressive, even if the Acura was just a couple of days out from its last breakdown on East Century Blvd, midway between USC and Watts, and more or less locally famous for its massive failure.

Suddenly, Dom had a feeling it would be a good idea to ask about Race Wars before they had to dive into the situation waiting on the other side of the front door. A distraction, he could offer.

Yeah, give Brian something else to think about other than the doom and possible gloom that the social worker was bringing to his doorstep.

As if reading Dom’s thoughts, Brian said, “Tanner’s not bad,” then he eased the GT-R into its spot. “In fact, he’s the best worker we’ve ever had. The only other social worker that comes close to him is the one who placed me and Rome with our second foster mom who taught us how to dance.”

Dom stored that little nugget of information for later as they got out. “He still can’t be that great if he’s got you making the drippy sweats by just turning up.” He countered, now carrying Tank up the walkway behind Brian.

Brian swung open the heavy barred door, then stopped after reaching the second one, keys rocking against the black fob waiting for his next move. “I’m not afraid of Tanner. That’s never been the problem.” But the social worker still had Brian growing ice in his veins and his eyes turning dark and hard, dangerous even. “Tanner’s not the issue, just the power he has.” Then he turned the final lock.

That was the reason every con hated the C.O.s and their P.O.s when they got out. The same reason that racers hated cops: the power struggle was always tipped in the uniforms’ favor. With that imbalance, one move too far over the line and there was no coming back. No passing go. No collecting shit, other than earned rights to visitation that always carried a condition which wasn’t always guaranteed to be fulfilled.

It didn’t matter that Dom hadn’t met the man yet; he already hated him and with good reason: families were forged by bond and blood. He counted every soul under the roof at 1327 as a part of his. If placed in the defense of his family like Brian was, seemingly at random and far too often, then Dom couldn’t be sure how he would choose to defend it. Any position he chose would result in a cold bench seat back to Lompoc or worse.

Dom noticed two things as soon as they were inside the house: the quiet and the cleanliness. Whoever had been first to reach the home base had cleaned the place up to restore it to the former glory that would have presumably made Rome’s grandmother proud.

The stereo that Brian and Rome used for their practices was expertly squirreled away beneath an elegant tablecloth in a back corner. On top of it, framed pictures that detailed the Pearce family history which was only being interrupted by the extending branches comprising the rest of the O’Conner kids over the years. Cute kids, all of them.

Rome sat in the heavy armed chair, his favorite spot, with his mouth sewn up into a tight line that Suki would’ve envied, annoyed much like Tank had been before he’d dropped his mega deuce at the cantina. Suki and Tej sat at the dining room table, flanking the social worker and running an elaborate scheme of interference with the man when he and Brian walked inside. Giselle moved like a shot from her post by the kitchen where she’d been hovering to immediately swoop in to take Tank and Twink and headed to the back of the house with them, securing the infants undercover until it was time for the worker to get a good look at them.

The Brian who extended his hand to the social worker wasn’t the same hyperaware road warrior from the doorstep. Gone was the frost and in its place sunshine and warm calm, turning up the light just enough for Tanner to look but just as capable of leaving him blind if given the motivation.

Dom watched the exchange with a level of attention that he’d never given a real chess match. He could imagine Jesse saying something about Brian’s knight challenging Tanner’s bishop, ready to gush about the gambit.

“Good to see you, Brian.” Tanner said as he sat back down at the table. “I hope this visit didn’t pull you away from work.”

Tej vacated his seat without a word, moving over to occupy the last empty one at the table, basically giving Brian closest contact with Tanner.

Brian offered Tanner one of those too-wide grins that made him seem totally declawed. “No, actually we were getting lunch so it’s not a problem at all and we were on our way back.” A complete lie that he sold by being just the right shade of bright-eyed and superficially earnest.

As a spectator, Dom could see how the worker was truly boxed in by the siblings who were surrounding him in a formation that would have been common place among wolves, especially a pack on the verge of defending its territory from an interloper.

Three up top, one down low: he might try that the next time the team had a semi to catch.

“We’re doing fine. We’ve got work and school, plus the twins, so we stay busy. Everything is going well.”

Tanner made notes on an official looking document and flipped it over to jot stray lines down on a legal pad beneath it. The rapid scratching on the paper was the only sound in the room. He resembled an eighties sitcom dad who was a little cuckoo for ugly sweaters or could’ve passed for a beleaguered cop on a procedural that would run on and on for a thousand seasons. The guy didn’t exactly exude warm and cuddly feelings; maybe his were put on a high shelf after weathering a few years as a true bleeding heart who was now too stubborn to be ground out of the system into early retirement.

Now Tanner was coming up for air. While doing so, he was inspecting the living environment and the people within it, which included Dom who he’d watched from the minute Dom stepped through the door.

Appearing done with his observational report, he turned his attention to Dom. “I didn’t get your name.”

The reflex answer was _because I didn’t give it_ but Dom had learned to grow up—mostly and not goad most authority figures into disliking him, so he simply answered, “Dominic,” and momentarily left himself to join the ranks of the other one-named greats: Madonna, Pelé, Prince, Selena, Beyoncé, Bono, and Drake. He learned to never volunteer much when being interrogated.

Silently, Giselle reentered the room with a twin balanced on each hip, her final destination with them was their playpen still open at the edge of the room.

Giselle swam into the conversation with a daring flick of her ponytail over her shoulder, a gesture smooth and sharp like a razor as she parked herself on the corner of Rome’s chair. “This is Dom, he’s Brian’s.” Her grin delivered her intent for Tanner to read between the lines of her draping Brian’s claim on him.

That claim was complicated. Her saying it so bluntly made Dom’s heart skip a beat and cha-cha between his ribs. He’d co-signed the claim that Brian was his and he was Brian’s some time ago, but only between them, which definitely meant there hadn’t been an audience. Dom was always stuck on green when he and Brian were alone; give them an audience and Dom reversed to yellow, possibly red because he wasn’t primed for the exposure yet. Still unsure by what _this thing_ between them meant—would mean in the future.

Suki spoke up then, picking up on Brian’s thread of congeniality. “Dom and his sister own a garage and a restaurant. Brian’s car had some problems a while ago, so he and Dom have been working on it together.” If Giselle laid the cement, then Suki applied the bricks and settled the reason Dom would be hanging around.

“And I go to USC with Mia, Dom’s sister.” Tej added in, sealing up the cracks.

Yeah, the siblings were tightening their snare around the older man without him seeing it. If Tanner decided to look up Dom’s record, he’d find that everything Suki and Tej had said was true. Plus, the business had longevity which might shade the black and orange parts of his history.

“Very good to hear that you’re broadening your scope of relationships, Brian. Tej told me how well he’s doing at USC and Suki and Giselle were telling me how excited they are to be together when the school year starts. Even Rome shared his enjoyment of working at the salvage yard. I hope the same goes for you at the Racer’s Edge.”

Brian nodded. “Harry’s a good boss so I’ve got no complaints.”

“Good, well, I’m here to see the twins and to talk with Mrs. Pearce since I’ve happened to missed her on the last three visits.” Tanner might have missed the siblings’ snare but he possessed a trip wire of his own.

Now Rome broke his silence. “That’s what you’ve been waiting for? We could’ve told you that she’d just been picked up by the health transport to get her dialysis treatment. She won’t be back for, like, six hours.” He’d held his silence longer than Dom would’ve expected.

“That’s right.” Suki seconded. “Then when she comes home, she’ll have dinner and she’ll go to choir rehearsal with Mrs. Hobbs next door.”

Tanner’s upper lip disappeared entirely under the roof of his mustache when he turned a _Mr. Nice Guy_ grin on the siblings. Just a little creepy. “It’s always refreshing to see a person of her age be so active. Though that crowded schedule may make anyone auditing my records suspicious that with all her comings and goings, Mrs. Pearce isn’t able to be an attentive guardian to Suki, Giselle, and the twins when I’m sure that just isn’t the case at all.”

Well, shit. Old bishop was making moves across the board.

Tanner made a compromising gesture with a solitary wave of his hand. “—I can go see her anywhere at her convenience as long as I’m able to have a talk with her.”

“We’ll let her know,” Brian promised without an ounce of anger that Dom felt on his behalf. Already light-years ahead of Rome in holding his temper in control. That anger demanded to know why couldn’t they just live? It was obvious that they weren’t blowing smoke up Tanner’s ass when they each agreed that they were living well. He was adding stress to their situation just to test them for faults.

Tanner moved over to the playpen where the twins collectively ignored the man in favor of the new activity wheel suspended over the top of the pen. They batted away at the knotted ropes and sliding rainbow tiles. Giselle had stripped them down to the essentials, just their white diapers in prep for giving them an early bath. The house was warm enough without adding the heat from small crowd scattered across the center.

The twins did deign to play nice like the others by taking hold of the fingers that Tanner extended to them and shook them like they were agreeing with Tanner’s inspection in hopes that he would move on so that they could get back to playing.

Tanner straightened up and grimaced, his back apparently disagreeing with him bowing so low. “The case looks good for you now that you’ve got a lawyer.”

Another new factoid for Dom. “Yeah, he’s pretty good.” Brian agreed.

“I only see your income as being an issue. Something we’ve already talked about.”

Rome’s posture took a turn for the defensive. “Don’t worry about our income, we get by.”

“ _True_ , but Uncle Sam likes knowing hard facts and _we get by_ doesn’t cut it, Roman.” For a tense moment, they waited to see if Rome would challenge Tanner again or remain cool. That thin streak of luck continued to stretch a little further. “By the way, happy birthday, Roman. Twenty-one is a big accomplishment. I’m proud to list you as one of my success stories.”

Given that the situation was shit, at least they were up-wind of it with a compliment like that.

“Thanks.” Rome answered, mildly dropping back the defensiveness.

“Any plans?”

“Actually, yeah, but only with family and a few friends,” Brian purposefully understated.

“Be careful tomorrow. But most of all: have fun.”

After that, Tanner packed up his bureaucratic tools of psychological warfare and wished the siblings well before departing, Brian following after him this time to ensure that he exited and the doors were locked behind him.

The eerie silence persisted once Brian returned to the room. Dom could’ve described the feeling as temporary shell shock—like coming face to face with an on-coming semi and managing to avoid it at the last second. Again, it was an old routine for Brian who systematically went around the room to check on each of his siblings, a quick reminder that they were still together, offering hugs to the girls—drying Suki’s eyes when they suddenly got wet –and to Rome also, and giving Tej a victorious pat on the back which also morphed into a big hug for holding down the fort.

Though the house was still standing, the O’Conner kids had the look of the emotionally devastated. So, Dom’s previous problems regarding privacy became a back-burner issue now standing at the center of Tanner’s disaster.

Gradually, they splintered off to get their household back to rights: Tej offering to cook with Giselle assisting, Suki watching the twins while Rome put the house back to the way it had been. Leaving Brian as the only one not focused on a specific job.

Dom helped Rome remove the pictures from on top of the stereo. “When are you two working tonight?” He asked Rome.

“Nine. Why?”

Dom checked his watch which put them just north of four o’clock. Five hours was more than enough for what he’d really wanted to do with Brian.

“I’ve got something for the GT-R.”

“Cool, see if you can get him to chill out. I mean, we’re all a bit messed up after Tanner stops by to rattle our cage and remind us if the wind blows wrong, he can cart half of us outta here. Bri goes into his emotional lockdown and gets so frosty that Mr. Snowman looks like Mr. July.”

Dom had noticed the same. “My best shot is all I got.”

“Better than what he’s had,” Rome chewed out in a mutter.

Brian hovered over the twins watching them play. Suki patted him on the back before going off to her room to get herself calm, leaving Brian to watch them until she returned.

Dom leaned in beside him, instantly earning the twins’ attention and allowed entry into their baby babble conversation. “So I pegged you right. Now we’ve gotta get you a nice Brother-Daddy license plate, so that you can be right with Uncle Sam.”

They brushed shoulders as Brian straightened up, actually chuckling as he elbowed Dom deliberately in the side. “Gotta get you a crystal ball so you can be a real psychic, Dom.” Since Brian had just been through some difficult shit then Dom figured it would be the polite thing to let his mouth slide—for now.

Suki came out of the back hall then, giving Dom the all-clear to get Brian moving. “C’mon, I got something to show you.” Dom motioned to the door.

“Really? What?”

“Gotta come with me if you wanna see what and where it is.”

Brian mulled the prospect over and let Rome know that he was headed out.

“Have fun. I hope you can chill out, Bri, cuz it’s getting way too frosty in here. Wait…” Rome pointed to the plastic bag Brian had brought inside with the cantina’s logo stamped on the front. “You brought home…food?” He questioned carefully, sniffing the air and inching closer.

Brian and Dom shared a look. Dom shrugged and backed off, knowing better than to get between a big mouth and free food. “I’m saying yes, if—” Brian fended off Rome’s attention to snag the bag and slapped his hand, “you promise to share.”

Rome construed his face into an ultra-angelic expression. “Of course, I will, Po-Po. See this is why you’re my favorite brother—always lookin’ out for me.”

Brian snorted as he surrendered the bag and the treasure of shrimp. “You say that now, but let it be your turn to do laundry and it’s another story.”

Rome made a show of shooing them out. “Just don’t be late to work.” He added after coming face to face with the mountain of food.

Brian chuckled as he neared the door. “I think you’re confusing me with you.”

“Hahaha. Get his funny ass outta here, Dom.”

“Gladly,” Dom answered. “Just shut your trap and we’ll be gone.”

Already chewing, Rome said between bites, “Just wait til tomorrow, then I’ll be the one with all the jokes.” They didn’t doubt it.

* * *

The first step in the plan, one that Dom was completely winging—because why not, started by going back to the garage to get the Charger. Even though, Dom could ride shotgun with Brian without bitching, he still preferred—no, he found his equilibrium when his fingers dug into the hard leather, his pulse synchronized with the thrum of the hemi, and his muscles reaching a perfect chord of tension that made him and the Beast one.

Five hours could slip by if used unwisely. Weighing his decision in measures of sure bets versus sure loses, the smarter bet said to head out to Gardena to hit the now shuttered speedway, but Dom’s heart which carried memories of his dad driving them out to the desert to practice on God’s dirt track said they could make up the distance with speed which they had plenty to spare if they just kept going east.

They’d slog it out with metro traffic until they were east enough to kick the speed up from eighty-five to ninety-five and drive on until the manicured green landscapes birthed desert cliffs and cliquish copse of Joshua trees.

There was a memory triggered by the orange dust painting a faded mile marker and a billboard promising the best Southern California Native American artifacts that signaled them closing in on their destination. From that point on, it was just he and Brian flying down a solitary strip of dirt for five miles, gradually rising in elevation until they reached a creeping mesa.

His Pop had said the land once hosted a bootlegging operation—a house, barn, transport set-up—when all the country had been dry. Once Prohibition had ended and no one was getting shot at for slinging booze, the house and the big manufacturing barn had been abandoned. Mother Nature swept through the area with a couple seasons of brush fires, striking every trace of man from her surface; now so calm that it looked like the Lady had hit the reset button and the earth was slowly starting anew.

So this flat patch of dirt became a little known gem to anyone with thick walled tires and an engine with something to prove. A place his Pop showed him where he could properly cut his teeth.

Looking in the rearview mirror, Dom smirked every time he saw Brian at his six, still following close enough that the reflection of the Charger’s chrome tail shown through Brian’s windshield. Real close. He dropped the gear and cruised over the sand flats, leading Brian through the wide circumference of the old foundation. Then he looped around to take on an incline rising from the edge of the flat until open air lay ahead and banked left to bring him and Brian back to the packed golden dust.

He revved the engine when they were aligned side by side. Dropping the passenger window, he told Brian, “Let’s see what she’s got,” and offered Brian the open road with a tilt of his head.

Like that first night in the No Man’s Land of the Warehouse District, Brian flashed him a grin so bright that a sudden burst of heat from below made Dom sweat.

“You need to keep your seat belt on is the only warning I’ll give you, cuz I know what she’s capable of and you’ve only seen the surface. The rest of the goods—” Brian unveiled a smile that made Dom think of one late night visit to Harry’s and the benefits of a busted A.C. “—I can guarantee that she’ll eat those ten seconds like Rome and Vince can close up shop at a buffet. But we can put some stakes on my runs if you want a little something extra. You know, I’m always game for the extra stuff, too.”

Brian was the definition of extra. Definitely not in the insulting connotation either. Brian’s boundaries appeared to be extra-wide: long, fearless, loving, adventurous, and focused. Like a hurricane inside a teacup. His focus came down on Dom like a laser, only Dom had wised up to shifting the focus right back.

Dom’s exhale slid into a chuckle. “I got you your ride back and you’ve got my respect, Bri. You want the shirt off my back, too? I can see the game you’re running now with that Mr. Easy-Breezy-Nice-and-Pleasing routine. Just opens up all the doors and the panties.” Each knew Dom would give his shirt and nearly anything else to Brian if he asked; though both knew Brian never would.

If possible, Brian’s face brightened more at hearing that Dom actually remembered that important detail. For guys like them, respect was its own currency. Dom had plenty by birth, action, and reputation. Brian was still building his history, so his was banked on action which had to be earned over and over again until he had enough proof to carry him.

“I’ll think of something you can gimme. But just so you know, I’ve never turned down a pair of panties either…if you’re offering. If not, I won’t keep you waiting any longer.” Then Brian revved the engine and shifted his eyes to the open land.

“Good, now get to work.” Dom leaned into the steering wheel and popped the brake, waiting for the show to begin.

Brian began with straight lines for roughly a quarter mile which extended north and south from the incline. The GT-R was smooth in handling and progressed and reversed like a jungle cat, just sleek and economical in her motions, still fast as hell, whipping in and out of lines and dust scattering arcs.

Brian braked beside him, spraying dust over the Charger’s chassis, an unrepentant grin plastered on his face as he served Dom a challenge before shooting forward, whipping his car around so that he was now running clockwise to Dom’s point at the center.

Dom barely remembered high school or the nightmares of algebra that Jesse didn’t forcibly make him remember. But some things still stuck: like the center of a circle being its focus and, at this moment, as Brian popped his clutch, arching the GT-R’s tight body into an angle perpendicular to the Charger, he accepted that he was definitely Brian’s focus.

Yeah, so now that he’d let Brian showoff, Dom shook off the spectator dust and waited for his moment. As soon as Brian had reached his tail, Dom cut the wheel hard, shooting out towards the left, oriented west again. He saw the GT-R fishtail in the dirt until Brian corrected and started to follow. From there, every time Brian was set to be neck and neck with him, Dom would take a sharp turn or reverse so Brian was forced to course correct and follow.

For the last run, Dom decided to take the incline. The move wasn’t a surprise apparently, as Brian had anticipated Dom’s move and jumped up his speed, pulled his brake and reversed, so that they were now nose to nose—driving simultaneously forwards and backwards up the incline.

Dom’s heart jumped into his throat as they neared the edge and Brian’s tires skirted the rim and caught a little air but banked inward on the swell of momentum once more until he rolling down the slope back to the dirt again.

Physics, which Dom tried so often to defy, and centrifugal force were his best friends at the moment.

The bitter bite of fear on his tongue would linger as long as Dom remembered this moment: Brian skirting the edge between the Earth and beyond in a place where Dom would never be able to catch him, no matter of speed or instinct would be able to reel him in, which scared the shit out of him.

Firmly on the flats once more, Brian pulled alongside of him. Still Brian remained unapologetic for shaving a few years off Dom’s life. They fell into the familiar routine of pacing; neither necessarily leading the other, just moving as a single unit in the same direction.

Dom could only describe now as comfortable. He was satisfied finally. That frantic desire to be close to Brian a few weeks ago that had washed over him like the Pacific’s massive swells had left him drowning. It was rare for him to be so unmoored.

Made him feel crazy. Almost wild.

That was how Brian made him. Just the threat that Dom could get enough of him, given Brian’s fractured time and countless cords of responsibility, made Dom anxious like being on a dark road looking for fuel and knowing that E was getting closer and closer with each turn of the wheels.

Eventually, they came to a stop high on the incline with a full body length between them and the edge. With so much open land stretching beyond the corners of the horizon, it was easy to forget what waited for them back in the city. It was easy to feel like it was only them in this empty corner of the world with an infinite supply of time, energy, and freedom to do whatever they wanted.

Dom moved towards the GT-R, parking his hip on the corner of the passenger headlight until Brian could get out and join him.

“Don’t kill it,” he told Brian, so the engine remained humming against him. Still hot from the runs, the desert, and singing a sweet docile purr.

“Sure.” Brian sat on the hood which most wouldn’t do but this was Brian—maker of his own rules, defiant in every direction, so Dom didn’t make a comment. Just continued to quietly watch the horizon.

Sunset loomed over the land, painting the desert in fingers of red, orange, and soft purple. Combined with the adrenaline of drifting close to the edge of open air and making it back down sharpened the colors to a rare shimmer in their eyes. The world had gone psychedelic like fireworks and the whispering woof of Brian’s music, still escaping from the speakers through the dropped windows. The combination dragging them under like the first hit off a non-medicinal substance.

The silence was tempered by expectation. Perhaps, Brian thought Dom would say something about that daredevil shit he pulled earlier. Dom wanted to, sure. He really, really wanted to rip Brian a new one, but the desert colors and the quiet interrupted by the engine and the faint strings coming out of the speakers anchored him until he was ready.

He and Brian were meant to be alone. He didn’t need to look at his watch to know that time was running out; he wouldn’t spoil it. A slurring lyric tripped his memory, allowing the right combination of words to fall into place.

He caught Brian’s speculative look as he rounded the nose of the car and folded into the driver’s seat. Dom pressed the back button until the song from the trip to the cantina popped up on the dash, then turned the radio up.

He liked that Brian had given him an out for not using his words. That Brian wouldn’t come at him like Letty or Mia for not saying exactly what he was thinking or feeling; mostly, Brian already knew what was going on inside Dom’s head. But when he didn’t, he let Dom use any tool available to communicate the jumble of thoughts that always became too thick on his tongue when Dom looked at him.

Dom couldn’t get over Brian being so reckless. Just a little too much speed or weight in the back…

He wouldn’t entertain those nightmares. Dom had a surplus from Lompoc and the times in between, so he didn’t need to fabricate more to keep his mind racing at night and air locked up in his chest.

Dom stepped back into Brian’s space. “What scares you, Brian?” A question that couldn’t be answered with a smartass remark.

Brian finally answered after crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his gaze from the sunset to Dom. “Failing them…Trying and failing.” His eyes burned bronze with the colors of the nighttime sky. Colors evocative of old gods and opulent struggles.

“I don’t think you could do that.” Dom’s fears were worn on his sleeve, open for the world to see. Losing his freedom, his family, being alone were things likely to kill him. Whether that death came fast or slow, the final result would be the same.

There was another significant look from Brian. “You just don’t know enough history yet.” His voice had gone rough and quiet, as if suddenly weighed down by that hidden history.

Dom doubted Brian had ever let anyone down as much as he cryptically declared. That selfish trait that caused Dom problems more times than he would’ve liked was absent in Brian. That trait gave Dom the chutzpah to dream of being king of the streets, only to methodically carve out a kingdom one street at a time. Brian wasn’t like him; he gave while Dom took.

Dom’s hands settled into the soft short waves of Brian’s hair. Brian moved with Dom’s hands until he was taking Dom’s mouth, guiding Dom to part his lips, accepting each taste. There was tongue—slow, filthy sweeps of tongue that were best reserved for cool sheets and endless hours of darkness.

Each kiss embodied the way in which Dom drove: direct with no pretenses, just expert precision and enough power to subdue without being overpowering.

Brian held onto Dom, riding the wave of his kisses with fingers curled into points, clawing into the tails of Dom’s tee with his legs winding around the back of Dom’s thick thighs like rope. He invited Dom deeper, rolling his hips on the vibration of the engine, churning hypnotically like the music.

They could kiss openly here. No eyes. No expectations. No challenges. He could move Brian how he wanted him and Brian never let go, simply challenged him to dive into the head rush.

Kissing Brian like this, Dom didn’t worry about labels. Didn’t think about the hard rattle of bars and cages that were either too humid or too cold. Didn’t have to worry about liking the way Brian’s big hands felt on his skin or the graze of his dick on his or what the rough catch of Brian’s cheek where a hint of evening stubble was starting to crop _implied_.

Since Brian was comfortable on the hood, he could stay there. Dom dropped his hands to palm at the summer damp skin beneath Brian’s shirt. The engine’s power translated beneath his fingertips as he skirted up Brian’s smooth swells of lean muscle until he got the idea to kick up the throttle and stop pussying around where he really wanted to be.

Drawing back, he gave Brian his fingertips which he accepted eagerly between his lips, sucking hard like he could taste candy in the furrows of Dom’s skin. There’s only one place his wet fingers were going, begging to answer which of them had missed the other more: Dom’s fingers inside of Brian’s heat or Brian being full of Dom.

He slipped them under the cover of Brian’s jeans and boxers until they were entering their favorite valley. They were only teasing the edge when Brian pulled back with a groaning hiss.

Dropping his head on Dom’s shoulder, Brian spoke between his teeth, torn between rolling with Dom’s motions and resisting. “Didn’t prep and I don’t have any stuff with me.” He kissed Dom through his new onset of confusion, though his fingers were still trying to work. “There’s still a lot for you to learn about all this.” He gestured between them. “Feels hella good but you lose some of the spontaneity that you get with a chick.”

Dom’s lust-addled brain required a simple translation. “So that’s a... no?”

“Not a no, just a later.” Brian replied by putting his hands to work on Dom’s belt, moving quick to pull him out into the hot air and start slowly dragging his hand over them both. “But fuck later.” His hands going smoothly from root to crown jacking them.

As Brian palmed his dick, he bit back over the tender spots that his tongue had traced, Dom’s brain shuttered the doors to higher thought and sent up a silent prayer that Brian would put his mouth where Dom was most tender.

Brian snapped his wrist lazily, lips grazing over the stubble on Dom’s jaw and down his throat until he reached the shallow dip of his sternum. Dom caught the flash of mischief in Brian’s eyes then he was pivoted into the grill and Brian slid down his legs to replace the hand on Dom’s dick with his mouth.

The sensory overload of being inside Brian’s mouth left him seeing the world without understanding the view. The sun sank low and filthy over the edge of the horizon like Brian’s mouth on him. A marvel of nature. The desert air echoed with the guttural moan of coming on the edge of hot steel.

Lizard brain be damned; Dom got Brian up and spread out over the hood, looking so fucking pretty and eager just for Dom. Positioned at the edge of the hood, stripped bare to the waist, buzzing for Dom to touch him. One hand took Brian by the base, starting the slow trek up and over and back down, while the other used his fingers to tease at Brian again.

Dom put his mouth to work on Brian’s hips, sucking cherries into the skin.

Brian dropped his head on the hood as his back arched under Dom’s hands. “Gotta go to work.” Brian said like he couldn’t get enough air.

Dom stopped and gave him a questioning look.

Brian waved him on. “Yeah. I didn’t say stop. Just a reminder to not mark the merchandise.”

If Dom had enough time, he’d leave marks where everyone could see. But he’d only leave one inside of Brian that was just for him, just to see Brian’s face when Dom hit that spot again might make Dom blow again.

A deep curl of his finger later, Brian arched off the hood, coming over Dom’s hand like he’d gone without for so long. Each hot splash made Dom relieved that Brian had decided to go into stripping instead of porn, because Dom would murk any man who got to see this.

Eventually, they cleaned up in a series of frustrated start and stops. Ultimately lucky to be too far out of city limits to rack up indecency charges. They had an hour to get back to the city to go their separate ways with Dom heading home while Brian went directly to work.

Too many sharp edges existed in Brian’s life with minimal protection to dull the damage. In the desert, Dom entwined their bodies, still facing the last pulse of the dimming sun, he held Brian close by locking his arms around him—chest to back, breaths moving in tandem and Brian tapped out a rhythm matching the cadence with the radio. Understanding echoing in each touch.

So Dom finally anted up, speaking low into the strong muscles in Brian’s neck. “You wanted stakes, so listen up: Go to Race Wars.”

“Now?” Brian canted his head to put them in profile.

Dom rolled his eyes. He wasn’t the only one with sex brain. “No, we’ve got less than two weeks. Come to Race Wars with me. With the Team. All of us can go. We’ve got this Gulf Stream that my Pop put me and Mia in when we were kids, so we can put the girls and the twins in there.”

“People already know that I’m rolling with Team Toretto.”

“They may know. But why not make it official: Bullitt’s riding with Team Toretto where it makes the most impact and money.”

“ _Official_?” The way Brian dropped official had Dom imagining the finality of dropping to one knee with a ring in hand. “You wanna make us official…as a team?”

Those speculative thoughts swerved hard into line with reality without betraying an inch. He nodded once before leaning in to kiss him again, drawing out a nip on Brian’s bottom lip. “Yeah, I’m offering official everything, especially if you win.”

“Then I can’t wait for them to see my dust.”

* * *

The guys’ cars were still gone when he got back to the house, their boys’ day firmly transitioning into a dudes’ night. Not that Dom could blame them.

Dom entered the front door and crossed the quiet living room to lean in the doorway of the kitchen where Mia was still up working on homework at the dining room table.

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head as he passed.

“Everything alright at Brian’s?” Mia asked.

“Yeah, just some family stuff. But it’s cool, don’t worry about it.” The situation was far from cool but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

She accepted the answer and got up from the table to reach a couple of bags hanging over the back of one of the chairs. “Look at these, Dom.” Mia pulled the bag over the tops of the hangers. “These are amazing.” She declared without room to think otherwise.

He could admit that outfits Mia had picked out for the twins were cute. Almost stupidly so. One reading _2 Legit_ and the other _2 Quit_. “You know tomorrow’s Rome’s birthday, right? I think he’s too big for these.” He said just to give her a rough time. “His forehead wouldn’t even fit in one.”

“I know that. In fact, I already got Rome’s gift—from us,” she stated deliberately, “and I got you this.” Mia revealed another set of hangers inside a much larger garment bag. “I know you can take care of yourself, Mano, but sometimes everyone could use some help.” She kissed his cheek. “Plus, if you decided to wear a tank tomorrow night, I would leave you home by yourself as punishment for your crimes against Rome’s dress code. And I’ll kept certain people for myself.”

He cocked an inquisitive brow at her statement. “What dress code?”

Now Mia gave him that eternally longsuffering expression that made her look exactly like their mother. So much that, Dom got a tingle—definitely not a shiver—that stirred over his skin like a shadow of maternal disapproval and his full name being carried with it and possibly a _chancleta_ kept at the ready. She went into the kitchen to grab the postcard that had been sitting pretty on freezer door.

Mia deliberated pointed to the beginning of the text and arched her eyebrow once again like their Mami did and commanded, “Read it. Aloud.”

So Dom exacted his own put upon sigh, then read from the glossy surface of Rome’s too-crowded birth day invite. “Empire Productions…Seriously, Mia?” She poked his chest to keep him on point. “Fine…Pearce Productions presents Roman’s Royal Revelry Baller’s Bash Bonanza…” Dom paused to think. “There’s a term for this.”

“Yes, alliteration and don’t stop. Keep reading.”

Of course, Dom did what he was told. “Come dressed to impress. Only the too fly, too cool allowed beyond the rope.” He rolled his eyes at the title being written up as _2 Fly, 2 Cool_. “A grown and sexy party for only grown and sexy people.”

He scanned the invitation from top to bottom, per Mia’s instructions, allowing the image of Rome grinning from ear to ear while decked out—with the assistance of Photoshop—in a glittering golden crown with a red on white royal cape with a bejeweled scepter in hand to be forever burned into his retinas. Rome looked like a king famous for slinging burgers.

Dom had forced himself to look away from the glossy invite because every time he peeped Rome’s extra wide, too cheesy grin staring back at him, he nearly choked on bubbles of spontaneous laughter-snorting that took hold of him. And after being forced to clean the kitchen cabinets after he suffered the same attack with coffee in his mouth that ended up covering an impressive array of the kitchen appliances, Dom decided that avoidance was his best option.

“Yes, Reina Toretto, I will do your bidding, so I don’t go to the gallows.” He gave her an obsequious bow.

“Yeah, we took a vote on it, Dom and you lost. So deal with it.” Letty said from behind him, climbing through the backdoor into the kitchen.

He threw up his arms in surrender. “I’ve been beaten, so I’ll take this and I’ll be grateful.”

“As you should, Mano. I won’t steer you wrong.” Mia never had.

Mia began packing up her work and books, though he tried to stop her, immediately sorry for interrupting her studying. “I’m done, so I think I’ll turn in early.”

Which left him and Letty alone for the first time in a long while. “You want a beer?” He asked her, already moving towards the fridge.

“Sure.” She sensed that there was more than beer to be had so she headed towards the front door. “I’ll be outside,” she called as she exited the living room.

Dom followed with two cold beers in hand. Letty accepted the bottle from Dom and twisted off the top as he sank down beside her on the step.

They drank in silence for the first few swallows, each pretending to be absorbed by the barely there flow of traffic down the block.

“Feels like forever since we did this last,” Letty finally said, rolling the chilly bottle between her palms. “Honestly, I can’t remember the last time we did this.”

Dom agreed. “You’re right. I can’t remember either.” Once upon a time, when Letty had been the girl in their fledgling crew and not _his girl_ in the crew, they’d sat on the front stoop, watching traffic, taking shots at each other, and building daydream cars and adventures as tangible as the clouds in the sky. They’d gotten away from just talking when hormones and the constant undercurrent of flirtation began to infuse every interaction between them.

The thought made Dom sad. Like Leon and Vince, Letty had always been around and had always been his friend, combined with everything else. Finally being beside her again, he realized how much he’d missed her.

“I’m sorry.” He admitted. “I think…no, I know it’s kinda my fault that we haven’t been hanging out.”

“Dom, we broke up. That’s the last thing either of us needed to do after that.”

“Yeah, well, we still see each other anyway. It’s just not the same.”

“It’s not but I think we really needed a break.”

He nodded silently. Forestalling finally getting what he needed to say out into the open was running on fumes. He took a breath, deciding to just leap in and kept his eyes focused elsewhere when his words landed.

“I gotta tell you that I’m seeing someone.” He finally admitted and waited.

She took a long swallow of the Corona, then smiled as it went down, obviously bitter but smooth. “I know.

“You do?”

Her laughter was a surprise. Totally unexpected as he made his admission but it was light and not her usual derisive chuckle. “Dom, I know how you act when you’re getting some of the regular, so yeah, I know. Plus, you’re all but walkin’ ‘round with little cartoon birds spinning over the top of your head.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“You are. All of us think so.”

That was another shock. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She drank again. “I’ve been expecting to come downstairs to find some skank walkin’ around in your shirt making breakfast. But it hasn’t happened yet, so I’m not sure if I feel better or worse now that it’s finally out in the open.”

“Letty--” He started.

“No, we’re cool, Dom. We broke up.” Letty reminded him with the finality of a steel door slamming and being wielded shut. “This was a clean break. Mia told me it’s only human to hold onto a little bit of hope that things will go back to the way they were…but she also said it’s insanity to do things that same way and expect different results. We can be crazy but never been _that_ kinda crazy.”

His too-wise baby sister was dropping truth bombs that Dom needed to hear but wasn’t ready for.

“—Not sure I even wanna know who.” He heard her trail off as she turned her head to look farther up the block.

This was the moment. That moment where he stepped up and navigated through the sea of bullshit of his making. All he had to do was open his mouth. “It’s…um…It’s …um…” he paused, scratching the back of his head as he licked his suddenly too dry lips. “It’s Brian.”

For a while Letty didn’t say anything. When she did, her response was a quiet “Okay.”

“That’s it?”

“What d’ya want me to say, Dominic?” Which she only called him when she was angry. “It’s a shock, big deal. You started fucking him after we broke up, right?” He nodded. “So we move on, cuz I knew it was someone just not who.” She brought the bottle to her mouth, then dropping it after a long string of swallows. “Good luck, I guess.”

The silence that transpired between them was neither heavy nor easy; just an intangible wall that kept the rush of lingering emotions from spilling out.

Letty’s voice was slow and straight like a line as she turned back towards him. “Who else knows about you two?”

Any answer he could give, whether it was truth or lie, would end up with him being the bad guy. “Vince, Leon and Mia—still tryin’ to figure out how she figured it out. But that’s all of ‘em.”

He could read the sudden widening flare of her nostrils for the angry gesture that it was. “So, just me and Jess were left off the newsletter.” She stated in a hissed whisper, sharp like a whip crack. “I mean, I know we broke up but I guess that means that we don’t have to tell each other anything anymore, even if you’re the one that said we’d always be friends—no, family. You always said we would be family.” The accusation of him breaking that bond hurt like a slap which she could have easily given him.

“We are family, Let. Nothing will change that.” But he had which was her point. He was the one that had fallen under this ridiculous spell and had undertaken this inversion of self. The petty part of him wanted to blame Brian for doing this to him. Blame Brian for not walking away instead so that he wouldn’t make Letty feel like this.

Dom knew Letty well enough to know that she would get angry with him if he tried to apologize too much. His next move was to keep it light. “Any advice. I haven’t dated anyone other than you in a long time.” They both knew that he may have dated Letty but Dom had fucked around plenty of times before.

The attitude was absent when she answered. “Yeah, just don’t do that shit where you tried to make decisions for me with Brian and expect that things to go down easy. I know Brian will fight you about that stuff—come back, snappin’ angry and you’ll have a hard time dealin’.”

“I’ll try.”

“I know you will.” She finished the rest of the bottle. “If you’re gonna…”she stopped herself and took a moment. She squared up her shoulders, turning to face him eye to eye. “Don’t make him chase you. He’s got too much goin’ on to chase you like I used to.”

Now Dom laughed in the face of his ironic history. “It’s seems like I’m mostly chasin’ him.”

“Good. You don’t like how it feels, right?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then just behave, okay.” She rolled the bottle again. “It’s not because he’s got kids?” They both believed in family and loved their little patchwork _familia_ with a fierceness. But Letty had made it clear from the start that she didn’t want kids ever and Dom was only semi-sure he did but not enough to take the option away.

“No.”

Letty was so strong. Had always been so. As she stood up and handed him back her bottle, he knew that she would take off for a while.

“I’m sorry, Let.” He said after a beat. Before when they had been together, they were good because she possessed just as many rough edges as Dom. Now, he stared down the brutal irony of him being the only thing capable of dulling the point of those edges, leaving her wounded and ragged but not defenseless.

Letty waved his apology off. “No apologies necessary, Dom. We—you and me—decided that this is where we needed to split, so it’s done. Most people would kill for a clean break like this. Like us. So we’re not gonna ruin it, okay, Papo?”

A scar, he thought about just then. The wound of their relationship had healed over, now scabbed and fading into a scar, and like most scars, it wouldn’t hurt. Would serve as a reminder of what came before and echo with faint aches when those previous feelings were plucked.

“We knew this would be hard.” Letty said without the expectation of him answering. “I know you love me. Just like I’ll always love you.”

“You’re family, Let. No matter what that’s not changing.”

“I know.” Her eyes shifted up to the sky, the distant stars reflecting back into the infinite darkness of them. She shrugged lazily as if she was dropping the last remnants of the weight of their former relationship. “Just hard hearing that you love me—just that you’re not _in love_ with me.”

There had been a time when he hadn’t loved her. That time seemed a lifetime away but it had existed for both of them. Dom knew that old hurts had ways of turning up to ache again but he doubted his would. Blame the new place in his heart he’d just started carving out for someone else.

Feeling the tension between them drop like the temperature, Dom offered Letty an exit from this conversation. “Need some air?”

“Yeah.” Letty had always preferred to lick her wounds in private. “Y’know if you wanted to try something different then you could’ve told me. Already got a strap-on and we definitely could’ve tried it out.”

He really needed to keep a list of the many things that he did not know. “Never would’ve happened.” He imagined her with her attachment and dismissed the image with a slow headshake. “Not an option either.”

She read through the lines down to the cracks in the pavement. “ _Oh, really_ , Dom? Seriously, don’t be selfish or shy.”

“No complaints yet, so why mess with greatness.”

Then her legendary eye roll came out to play. “Your dick ain’t that great.” Another lie. A complete understatement. “It’s good but it ain’t the seventh wonder of the world.”

“It should be.” She’d only gone down the sorry stack of steps before she stopped to stretch, twisting her body towards the corners of the wind and rolling like a cat caught in a moment of satisfaction. “Get some air and be safe.” He told her.

“I will and you should think about what I said.” He followed her down the walkway until they reached her car where he drew her in for a hug. “One for the road?” Her midnight smile was a thing of beauty, making the streetlights gleam off the lines of her soft cheeks until he was struck by the sharp white line of the rare show of her teeth.

“Let—” That smile had led him into a vortex of trouble many times. It had also saved him from his own stupidity even more.

“Listen, I’m not hurtin’ for attention. We both know that.” That, they did. “I shouldn’t try leading you astray, Papo. Just thought I’d give you a final taste…Not that you’d be able to handle it. Follow my advice by keeping your hands on the wheel and off skanks, and your eyes on Blondie, and then you’ll be okay.” He recognized this as her blessing.

“I will be.” Dom promised her. “You’re giving me a blanket warranty, Let. I won’t wear it out.”

Letty popped open her car door and climbed half in. “You know I’ll always have your back, even if I don’t have your heart.”

“I know, Let. Same goes for you.”

Then Dom watched her drive off, feeling light and burdened in each breath.

* * *

Before he sacked out for the night, Dom sent Brian a short text. Its relevance coming back as he replayed the sight of Letty’s taillights swimming away in the dark.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35432709690/in/dateposted-public/)

It was easy to be underwhelmed by Brian’s gift of downplaying the facts. The key chain was no simple ninety-nine cent hunk of junk. It was a perfect replica of the GT-R with the bold script painted across the roof that read Our Squad. Then each surface: hood, doors, and trunk was decorated with the name of an O’ Conner kid. A real squad indeed.

No matter the stakes, this was how a real family should roll.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35432737330/in/dateposted-public/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giselle's ring tone: M.I.A.- [Bad Girls](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2uYs0gJD-LE)
> 
> Also, there are references to the next ficlet during the garage scene and a certain dream crossover that I would love to write.
> 
> Please pardon my lack of photoshop skills.


	11. eleven (talking bodies)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Rome's birthday and the day is full of surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.
> 
> Title from The Glitch Mob's  
> [Between Two Points](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nrGhZmpoIDc)
> 
> .  
> A/N 1: Music is very important in this chapter. I’ve embedded links to the songs on YouTube where they appear in the fic. I highly recommend giving these songs a listen when they’re referenced. Eventually, I’ll have a playlist compiled for the story on the series page.
> 
> Chapter music references all inspired by Rome's birthday
> 
> Beyonce: [Drunk in Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p1JPKLa-Ofc)
> 
> Lecrae: [I'm Turnt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YiUdrIsqmyQ)
> 
> Carnage: [I Like Tuh](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=65h8TQwzn10)
> 
> Tove Lo: [Habits (Stay High)- Hippie Sabotage Remix](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SYM-RJwSGQ8)
> 
> Tove Lo: [talking body remix young professionals](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Gn6OYpGFtA)
> 
> J Balvin: [Ay Vamos (Furious 7 Remix)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R1369wPOJ78)
> 
> Stevie Wonder: [Happy Birthday](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qwscb3QIVSg)
> 
> A/N 2: Dom's struggle with his feelings for Brian and what that means on a larger level will take more time to resolve. He's always been pretty rigid with how he's envisioned himself and his place in life. His relationship with Brian challenges the expectations that he and others have placed on him and he constantly weighs his relationship against his Lompoc and racing experiences since they've been such huge influences on his life and identity. So expect frequent brushes with internalized homophobia.
> 
> A/N 3: Again, thank you, thank you, thank you for your patience. The next parts will be posted much sooner.
> 
> A/N 4: Major warning for this chapter is illegal drug use. It's been referenced before but this chapter features key characters using illegal substances, so here's the warning. 
> 
> As always, concrit is appreciated and enjoy!

In retrospect, Dom would later figure out that he should have kept his eyes closed when his phone started doing the cha-cha across the surface of the low table beside his bed at four-fifty-six in the morning. If he had ignored the obnoxious sounds of ricocheting text notification pings then he would not have started his day by staring blearily at Rome’s five mile wide digital grin.

Despite the hour, Dom only had one question on his mind: how the hell did Rome have his phone number?

But being so early, the house was uncommonly quiet, making it easy for Dom to make out Vince’s sleepy grumble of “What the fuck--”, followed by the heavy thud and rattle of a cell phone being chucked at the wall and losing the battle against wood and concrete as it landed on the floor.

The last thing Dom expected before he could properly shake off the eye dust and the heavy pull of dreams was a text from Rome informing all and sundry that today was his birthday. Dom did a slow scroll over Rome’s declaration and the pissy responses that followed.

Despite the hour, Dom could decipher due to the caps lock and the angry tone that the final message was definitely from Vince. Anyone up might have heard him laughing in the dark.

He thumbed the button for silent mode, then turned over and went back to sleep where synth harmonies and desert landscapes waited for him.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/34982023004/in/dateposted-public/)

* * *

Saturdays were a different animal in adulthood versus when Dom was a kid. Like everything else in life, enough cash got the garage open for regular business for at least half a day, often times competing with the schedule of the team’s side projects. Yet, here they were on Race Wars’s doorstep where no one was forking over any cash for last minute repairs and mods. Instead, chancing that operator skills would be sufficient also known as riding on a wing, a prayer, and enough gas to get to the desert until then.

Dom found himself undertaking a far greater challenge: teaching Mia how to make things from their Mami’s book aka the only book capable of conquering all taste buds and sweet tooths.

See, Dom hadn’t been lying per se about Mia’s struggles in the kitchen. The disclosure he’d shared with Brian the first time he brought him to the café had been all truth with minimal exaggeration. There was a reason that Mia did the books and came up with strategies to grow the business while Dom manned the grill, stove, oven and any other piece of equipment that stood in open revolt against his sister.

It was why he was leaning against the counter with Han beside him as Mia explained how she’d followed their mother’s recipe to the smallest detail. Somehow her _following_ the recipe versus Han _following_ the recipe yielded two very different pans of _guayaba pastelitos_.

“I followed the recipe,” Mia said firmly, turning that signature Toretto glare on the trays to maximum overdrive, radiating disappointment in their failure to meet her expectations. Her eyes narrowing on the burnt edges of the crusts with the kind of intensity that suggested that they’d decided to personally offend her, the rest of their family, and her mother’s memory.

Dom looked to Han who shrugged and offered a short reply of “Yeah, me too.” Keeping his answer short and direct as he’d already moved on to sampling his contribution to this experiment.

The nonplussed eyebrow tilt Han gave them loudly communicated _seriously_ , because the two still steaming pans told a sad story of before and after. Dom considered trying Mia’s attempt for brother-sister solidarity but thought better of it. Hey, he would do anything for his sister, but Dom was pretty sure there was a Commandment or legal statue that outlawed deliberately poisoning one’s self.

Mia held up the big recipe binder that was kept under lock and key. The pages inside were old and cataloged the passage of time through the transition of their Nonna’s curling and precise cursive to the miniature, rounded loops of their Mami’s script. If they continued to follow tradition, then it was Mia’s turn to fill its pages, though the reality of the matter was that Dom was the one to make additions to the numerous blank pages.

He noticed the small furrow starting between her eyes. That look had gotten him to cave on many occasions, essentially the emotional equivalent of a kick to the solar plexus when her brows started to meet and her lips turned down in disappointment. A look that had obliterated his and Vince’s defenses on numerous occasions.

Han got a good read on that look as well and moved in to play Dom’s back up.

“Okay, so this time it turned out …not so good—” Dom started, gently. Those burnt edges appeared to be on the opposite end of good and the smell of burnt sugar  would linger if they didn’t work quickly.

Mia interjected, “I’m sure eating one of these would be considered assault.” Dom had to keep his urge to grin under wraps. Look at his baby sister reading his thoughts. She was a smart girl and one look at the pan declared that there was no resuscitating these patients. He might’ve also thumbed through her Basic Lifesaving Skills book when he was bored a few days ago, so that’s why his thoughts were so squarely black and white.

“They’re not…” he paused, hearing the lack of truth in his voice, “ _that bad_. But you’re getting better.” Dom opened up his arms to her, pulling her in for a brief but firm hug. According to the government, Mia was a grown woman, a business woman, and a prospective doctor, but she’d always be his _hermanita_ who needed her Mano to soothe her bumps and bruises, even the ones to her ego.

Han moved around the pair to confront the reality of Mia’s dire attempt. He searched the burnt field for one pastry that wasn’t too far gone with char, and once he had it, he took a brave bite while nonchalantly looking back at the pair of siblings who were each sending up a silent prayer as Han chewed bravely.

After two swallows, Han offered up his advice, “Two things, Mia. You forgot to prep the pan. If you had, these wouldn’t be sticking to the surface and falling apart.” He pointed to the top of the overly crispy triangles that condensed into black bricks instead of neatly folded soft sheets of golden dough. “Plus, you forgot the eggwash to keep them moist while they cooked. Otherwise, it’s all good.”

Dom gave her another gentle side hug. “See, you’re already doing much better. You didn’t mix up the salt with the sugar again.” Dom complimented her as he pulled her deeper into his side.

Mia offered him a tiny glare, kitten-size in strength compared to when she summoned the full force of the Toretto fury. “I still contend that you set me up _that time_ , Mano. I know the difference between salt and sugar down to the molecular formula.” If he wanted to be a dick, he would have asked what happened in the previous attempts where Dom had not allegedly sabotaged her.

He wouldn’t argue with her about knowing the official stats on salt versus sugar, but he’d stand his ground that he hadn’t been the cause of her mix-up. He’d never been a neat freak but the kitchen and the garage were treated with the meticulous care that they deserved as sanctuaries in his life.

Dom held up his hands in a plea of surrender. “I plead the Fifth.” Knowing that arguing with her was like running into a brick wall and expecting to go straight through without a scratch.

Mia hummed the peaks to a familiar song. “Next time I try to make those, they’ll kick ass and take names.”

Han picked off a corner of char from the pastry in his hand and offered, “I’m totally up for giving you props, Khalesi T.” Which had become Mia’s Game of Thrones nickname which only Mia, Jesse, and Han seemed to understand. Dom just nodded. “—I’ll drop to bended knee and everything.”

Dom hid a small grin behind his fist as the pair high-fived. Then Mia handed him a white pastry box that had been sitting on the far end of the counter.

“I think this is the point where the light comes on that tells you it’s safe to move around the kitchen and go about your business,” she said as the box was placed in Dom’s hands.

Dom popped the lid, genuine surprise covering his face as he looked inside. “So you’re calling this moment a green light?”

Mia took a note from Letty’s book by replying to Dom’s smartass remark with a quick shot to the shoulder. If anyone asked, he’d say he barely felt a thing, but inside the privacy of the Charger, he would rub at his shoulder and wonder if Mia had started doping to get an extra edge on studying because his sister hit like a welterweight.

She tapped out a noisy beat on the closed lid. “Anyway, you can take these when you head over to Brian’s place. Make sure Rome gets these—I mean, put them in his hands gently, because I’m sure that his birthday punches will have been the opposite of nice since he woke up half of L.A. this morning with his birthday text.”

Dom wouldn’t put it past Team O’Conner to tie up Rome and stick him on the front porch in his underwear as birthday payback. Hell, he would have given him an early morning ice bath to slow his roll. But a twenty-first birthday brought out the last burst of adolescent excitement in most people before the speed of life picked up and then exploded into the gale force punch of adulthood.

Dom couldn’t blame the kid really. His Pop bought him his first legal beer, though they’d known that it was far from his first drink and had given him free reign to come home or not after concluding his celebrating. When he was twenty-one, Mia had been twelve and their Mami had been five years gone, but their family had been slowing getting bigger and stronger. So, Dom understood Rome’s joy.

Continuing, Mia motioned in Han’s direction. “Quality Control assured me that these were, in fact, the epitome of awesome.” Han took his job as Quality Control seriously and proceeded to offer up good mojo by waving his hands over the box, miming his seal of approval over Rome’s box. Since Han was inclined to eat any and everything, he got to be the final arbiter on Mia’s skills.

She wasn’t a bad cook, just an inconsistent one. She pulled off making purple, white, and yellow merengue puffs for the Suspiros de Merengue; the colors inspired by Rome’s taste in paint and wardrobe. Yet a five ingredient pastry that required far less care failed miserably.

Dom felt somewhat reassured to know that he wasn’t skating on blind faith alone when he offered up the box to Rome. “Good to know. I don’t want to imagine the hard feelings if we’d--” actually Mia “—poisoned the birthday boy.”

The girl was smart enough to perform alchemy and invent cold fusion or whatever shit those movie villains were always trying to steal in order to facilitate world domination, but salt and sugar could be her undoing.

It wasn’t like he was a total expert, just that Dom’s love affair with his Mami’s cooking had led to him earning the nickname _Tito Gordito_. A name that still haunted him whenever he indulged in too much of the good stuff and had him slinging weights as soon as he hit his first major growth spurt.

Mia smoothed the edges of the box down again, erasing evidence of Dom’s peak inside. “If there’s any poisoning happening today, then it won’t come from my pastries. I’ll pin it on the Dynamic Duo. Be the adult tonight, Dom. Don’t let V and Leon dare Rome. Please don’t give me my first brush with Emergency Medicine tonight.”

Contrary to Letty calling the three amigos—Dom, Vince, and Leon—the _Dumbasses_ frequently, Dom was probably the best behaved of the trio, though he was intimately familiar with just how quickly things could spiral into a complex web of downright apeshit foolishness if Vince and Leon started laying down dares. And given Rome’s impulsivity, Dom shuddered to think about how many races Brian would have to win and the number of dances he’d have to give in order to pay off the damages.

“Say no more.” Dom answered.

The pan of _pastelito_ carcasses was suspended over the garbage can and failed to move when forced to face gravity. Mia held it up while Han applied a little muscle to wedge the pastries off the bottom. Mia signaled him once more before Dom headed out. “Also, there are twenty-one Suspiros in that box. Not twenty or nineteen or eighteen. Twenty-one.” Her tone precise and threaded with insinuation. “Okay?”

Dom started for the door. “Understood, Mia Bella.” Suspiros de Merengue might have been his favorites as a kid…and as an adult, so he understood why Mia was laying the law.

She waved him off and went back to bracing the metal pan as Han tried to jackhammer the bases of the pastries. “See ya later… _Tito Gordito_.” Then Mia and Han laughed at the parting shot as Dom headed out the door.

As he walked out, he reminded himself that just as he was unbeatable on the streets, he was Mia’s best and favorite brother.

* * *

Dom eased the Charger up against the curve to the sight of the O’Conner siblings coming out of the front door like ants marching off to work. It wasn’t just Dom’s imagination that sorted their exit according to age with Giselle and Suki each carrying a twin out the front door while their older brothers followed.

“Sup, guys.” He said to five of the O’Conner siblings. Tej offered him a brief head nod and the girls cut him nearly twin smirks that made Dom want to contribute to the O’Conner Sisters’ Bail Relief Fund because those two wore trouble like other chicks wore earrings, as a cutesy accessory.

Giselle waved Tank’s tiny fist in Dom’s direction. “You’re late, Dom,” she pitched her voice high to imitate Tank, “we already gave Rome his twenty-one arm shots. We needed your muscle for Rome’s big head though. But we did okay.”

Tej switched the baby backpack to his left shoulder, patting the right one with a grimace. “Yeah, Dom, I think Rome’s birthday wish must’ve been to become bionic, because my shoulder feels like I’ve been punching steel.” Dom felt for Tej who leaned closer to short and lean while Rome was about average height and ripped from years of acrobatic dancing and an early stint in the pen.

Twink empathized with his older brother’s woes by making cooing sounds at Tej. He reached over the top of Suki’s shoulders towards his brother, pouting as sympathetically as a six month old could while reaching out with his searching fingers. The sisters worked together to get the twins strapped into the back of the _Ro-Machine_ while Tej slid into the driver’s seat to start the car. Apparently, playing chauffeur was one of the key features for the birthday special.

Dom held up the white box. “Maybe Rome will share what’s inside. You might feel better then or if he eats all of these, he may go into a sugar coma, so then you’ll get some peace and quiet. I’m not sure where I wanna place the odds.”

Tej honked the horn, obviously to speed up the strangling eldest pair of siblings. Then he looked over to Dom and shrugged, “I’ll calculate the odds, then I’ll hit you up. I don’t know ‘bout you, but we don’t take sucker bets.”

Dom had grown to like the kid, so the broad grin he offered was genuine.“No real champ does. I leave sucker bets for the bustas.”

Just as Tej tapped the horn for the second time, the pair of doors swung wide enough to allow Rome to jump over the short series of stairs to land on the walkway with his feet apart and his hands balled up on his hips like a superhero. Brian followed Rome, pulling first the inside door closed then locking it. His eyes landed on Dom as he slipped the key into the lock on the second door. He offered a playful eye-roll in response to his brother’s theatrics.

“Alright, Superman, start flying or leaping towards the car so that we can jet.” Brian said as he climbed down the steps.

“Just call me Steel, Po-Po, cuz just like the best Superman replacement, I’m hard as hell and smooth at the same time.”

There was a lightning fast game of _one-two-three-jinx_ from the car, which Suki apparently won, earning herself the right to yell from the backseat, “Just like your forehead, Rome!” The level of celebration that followed the dig was usually reserved for winning Hawaiian vacation packages or the entire showcase on the Price Is Right.

Brian slung his arm around Rome’s neck and gave him an encouraging half-hug and a sloppy kiss on the side of his head. “It’s just so easy sometimes, Rome. You can’t open the door as wide as you do and expect _us_ not to go for the easy shot.” Rome wiped off the kiss while tossing his brother a fleeting poisonous look. “C’mon, Princess, your carriage is waiting.” Again, Brian proved just how quick he was by dodging Rome’s wildly flung right hook.

So if an instantaneous grin spread across Dom's face when he saw Brian, he didn’t fight it and continued up the walk until he could deliver the box into Rome’s waiting hands.

“This for me?” Rome took possession of the box so fast a cloud of dust should have appeared above Dom’s fingers. “I smell sugar.” Rome stated without opening it.

So, Brian might have looked a little nervous as Rome began to open the box. “You’re giving him sugar, Dom?” Sounding a little put out to have to deal with a sugar drunk Rome. Brian hovered over Rome’s shoulder to get a good look in the box. Then he shook his head when he saw what was inside. “Rome and sugar are like firecrackers and lighters, except way more dangerous. I’m telling you now: when he’s shooting off to the stratosphere and being chased by a gang of preschoolers and Vietnamese flower shop openers,  you’re dealing with it.” Dom sent a silent look to Brian questioning whether he was serious versus just pulling his leg, but he assumed it was the former since Rome’s smirking grin had shrunk down to become almost sheepish. Though the shy turn lasted until Rome looked down at the Suspiros again and had his eyes once again filled with sugar-rich day dreams.

Rome reproduced the bright white grin from his t-shirt as he gazed at the assorted merengue cookies. “Man, you know I always liked you. Don’t let anyone tell you anything different.”

“What?” Brian and Dom asked simultaneously.

Rome smacked down the lid suddenly. “Huh? Nothing.” Then he crossed the yard in a blur, already taunting his siblings about his treats and his unwillingness to share. “y’know my mouth…” He yelled behind him as he ran around the car.

Dom motioned towards Rome’s victory lap around the car, much to the annoyance of Suki and Tej while ignoring Giselle’s—probably imminent—threats to steal the cookies from beneath his nose. The only noise on the block for the next few seconds was the sound of Rome slapping Tej's and Suki’s hands as they tried to inspect his goodies.

Then Dom pointed to the scene, “So you buy him that t-shirt or is that a Suki original?” Both impressed and unnerved by the sight of Rome expertly duplicated mug.

“A Suki original.” The original being a perfect mock-up of the Burger King king with Rome’s face and glossy grin enlarged and superimposed over the monarch’s face. “I keep telling myself that he’ll only be twenty-one once and that he’s my brother whom I love dearly, but damn….”

“You had to reconsider that last bit after this morning’s announcement. I can hear it in your voice.” Now Dom was curious whether Rome had ended up on the front porch in his underwear or not.

Brian drifted towards his car with Dom following him. “If you’ve seen Full Metal Jacket, then you can imagine what went down before the sun came up.” If Dom had placed money on Rome getting his ass kicked, then Dom would’ve walked away with fat pockets.

“Don’t tell me you can’t handle a little enthusiasm? I thought Mr. Sunshine never went dim.”

“My enthusiasm after getting off at two a.m. is stuck firmly on E until 8 a.m. Just consider me like 7-11: capable of giving you what you need but not what you want and definitely without enthusiasm.”

That last statement required an asterisk like the late night TV spots that promised no certain miracles from ridiculous _miracle_ products. But knowing what Brian was like after an early morning shift, Dom knew the lack of enthusiasm was only situational.

“I’ll remember that the next time you text me at three am.” They were hovering by the GT-R’s driver-side door, falling easily into the companionable peace that was so essential to their relationship.

The _Ro-Machine_ ’s horn blasted once behind them. Suki and Giselle were posted up on chin-hands in the rearview window to watch while Tej pretended to be overly engrossed in his phone, his eyes staked under the steering wheel as if his life depended on it, which left Rome to partially sprawl over the purple Caddy’s roof and rap his knuckles down impatiently.

Like magnets in close alignment, Dom and Brian’s eyes locked together, and with just that action, they started an instantaneous chain reaction.

Clapping suddenly interrupted the short lull of peace, followed by a few waves of teenage girl laughter. “Hey!” The clapping continued as Rome picked up his tempo. “I will turn on the hose and I mean it.” The juxtaposition of the Rome grinning from the surface of the t-shirt versus the live action version who was mustering up his best imitation of a parental glare of disapproval triggered a couple of chuckles to come out of Dom and Brian, who rewarded his brother with a single finger birthday salute. That glare remained on them, though it wasn’t quite potent enough to really goad either into making serious tracks but it was a cute attempt.

But ignoring Rome was not an option as he cupped his hands together and bellowed across the small yard. “-- So, y’all remember it’s my birthday, right? And that there are places that I want to be and people I want to see and things me and the kids don’t need to see in broad day light. Y’know how Mrs. Hobbs gets when she has _concerns_. I’m not feeling up to having to discuss these _concerns_ , especially  the bald and muscly kind.”

Brian flashed his brother an appeasing grin. “Alright, we hear you, Rome.”

“Three words, Po-Po: Pay-Per-View. If you’re putting on a show, they better be paying.” Rome cast an accusatory finger around the facades of sunbaked paint and low chainlink fencing, as if accusing the neighborhood-at-large of trying to take advantage of the situation. The irony being that the whole neighborhood could hear Rome as he bitched at Brian.

From a big brother perspective, Brian was constantly racking up points for knowing how to deal with his siblings. “I’ll pump the breaks on running my mouth if you can promise not to become Rolly Polly Rome by eating the entire box.” Dom thought Brian definitely earned more points for putting up with Rome without continuously giving in to the temptation of chucking something at him in order to shut him up.

Now Brian gestured towards the passenger seat, knowing that Dom would take him up on any invitation to ride. Brian caught Dom’s eye and sent the request his way, as if he was offering up a platform for ribbing Rome more.

Dom opened the passenger door instead. “I’m down for anything as long as I don’t have to watch Rome eat. I don’t know how you all survive living with your version of a human incinerator, but living with Vince is like being in the middle of a feeding frenzy on Animal PlanetShit gets gnarly real quick, and I’m too young to end up one hand short.”

Brian dropped down into the driver’s seat and turned over the engine with a flick of his wrist. “Hey, you gotta learn like the rest of us to steer clear of Rome’s mouth.” Dom slid in and closed the door . “I almost lost two fingers and an eyebrow to Rome’s big mouth.” Brian said as he waited for the _Ro-Machine_ to ease down the driveway.

“Do I wanna know?”

Brian shrugged one shoulder before adjusting the volume, filling the interior with smoky beats of sinuous SoCal rhymes. “Got between him and Fat Burger after he first got back and learned a lesson.”

Dom remembered the adjustment when he got out of Lompoc. Remembered how wired his body was to the buzzers and the expectation of confined spaces, always idling and on alert for the first sign of violence.

He’d adjusted to being free again, gained a new confidence in his place in the world, and possibly the arrogance to know that he had plenty of time to come, even if he didn’t know where he’d spend that time. So Dom had no problem just riding with Brian and not asking for their destination. The ride felt like it was as much a surprise for him as it was for Rome.

Somehow light traffic from the 110 to the PCH made for a relatively smooth trip, one that Dom suspected might have been one of those small favors the universe paid out every so often.

Thirty-five minutes later, they exited the PCH to slide down into palm tree lined surface street. Still traveling north on the narrow two lane road, they moved to the soft thump and warble of slick California jams until a perimeter fence appeared at Dom’s right.

Eventually the buildings emerged rising high and fast over the height of the fence. Beyond which the cool art deco towers gleamed at the top of the sprawling green rose and didn’t give off an imposing presence, rather they made Dom feel ridiculously under-dressed and desiring to give into that little internal nudge that made him sit up straighter. The silver script on the front gates welcoming them to Palm Coast Palisades reeked of money that none of them really had though the O’Conner kids entered between them without hesitation.

Serpentine white paths cut through the carpet thick green, green grass. So lush that they should've been forbidden from looking at it, otherwise their eyes alone would cause it to wilt and loose its immaculate luster.

Reading the question on his face, Brian threw the GT-R into park inside the discrete parking garage adjacent to one of the towers and said, “This is what Rome wanted to do even more than the club and we all wanted to do this with him.”

“Should’ve told me we were going to be dining with the rich and famous, Mr. Moneybags, so I could’ve worn my penny loafers.”

Brian unleashed a rude snort. “Now, why can I not imagine you and penny loafers in the same image, let alone the same universe?”

“Hey, wayback when I was the flyest kid on the block. My Ma kept me swagged out for days every Easter. I was rocking those white suits better than Tony Montana or Pitbull ever could.”

“Whatever you say, Tubbs.” A Miami Vice joke? Oh, Dom could play.

“If we’re going for the obvious, then I would be Crocket and you’d be Tubbs, Bri. You got the eyes, the sarcasm, and the lesser sense of style, so, yeah, I think we got that one figured up all right now.”

“Not even Rome is ballsy enough to go for the white suit tonight.” Brian tapped the dash excitedly, “Let’s roll out before we get invaded.” Which was probably the next move of the barely patiently waiting cluster of younger siblings were maneuvering to do.

Before Brian could slide out of his seat, Dom stopped him with a light touch on the shoulder. “You didn’t tell me what we’re doing here.” Dom could do spontaneity any time of the day, but given the local color, he doubted their group would be contributing much to the genteel air of tranquility suffusing the place.

Brian motioned to Tej that he was coming, which meant that Tej would be responsible for corralling the others until he joined them. He gave Dom a new breed of smile that was instantly collected and preserved deep inside Dom’s mental vault. “I think you’ll like what we’re doing.”

“And that is?”

“Putting the family back together. At least for a little while anyway.” Brian sucked in the corner of his lip and pulled it in until the recoil of his smile released it, trapping Dom’s eyes between the bright points of his white smile and pink, pink mouth.

Definitely thoughts for another time.

Once they were grouped together on the sidewalk, Dom watched Brian as he drifted from one sibling to another; sometimes getting shoulder bumps for his troubles, as with Giselle, or wet cheek slaps from the twins, or the _I’m too old for this ridiculousness_ glance from Tej. Dom recognized Brian’s subtler methods to headcount his family. Not that Dom could fault him; it was a gesture that Dom was intimately familiar with and he would admit—if only to himself—that he was a lot less inconspicuous about it.

Brian ended up at the top of their little formation with his arm casually slung over Rome’s shoulders who had kicked up his excitement level to just below imminent volcanic explosion. His voice carried clearly without much effort, “I held back my appetite for this. Like, we should be doing this more, cuz this is the happiest place on Earth. Forget Mickey. This is where the dreams are made, like, for real.”

Disbelief was written large across Brian’s face. “Either you’ve got some magic or a damn hollow leg or something, because I’ll never understand how you can eat like you do.”

Not to be left out of an opportunity to rib Rome, Tej piped up from his position at the back of the little formation beside Dom to say, “Hey Bri, no need to sugarcoat it. Rome’s just a big ole freak…of nature. That’s why he can eat a breakfast the size of Jupiter and still whine about being hungry.”

“Haha, very funny. I’ll remember that next time, MC Short Stuff. Let’s see if I help you reach things on high shelves from now on.” Rome shot back.

Before they reached the glass doors offering entrance into the first tower, Dom took the opportunity to take a quick survey of the posh atmosphere. Golf carts crossed the paths leading to the short rows of townhouses that hugged the periphery of the grounds, apparently the vehicle of choice as there was a row lined up outside the building’s clear doors.

Once inside the place actually resembled an advertisement come to life.

As the group moved through the glass doors, the fact that they were not strangers to the place was obvious as they deftly navigated through the sedately moving foot traffic and the occasional sophisticated scooter whizzing past. The staff lacked the medical scrub uniforms that were common in nursing homes. They upgraded to less conspicuous pastel uniforms that gave them the touch of class that helped the place masquerade as a spa.

A pretty chick in baby pink waved them over to the central console. “Hey, Brian,” she greeted him with a bubbly grin, the kind that easily told a story of happy acquaintance.

That presumed familiarity was cemented by Brian and staffer exchanging a brief hug. “Nice to see you, Denise. You’re looking good as usual.” Denise had one of those faces that was baby doll pretty. All soft features and rounded high cheeks that would portray a perpetual sweetness no matter what.

Rome bodily moved Brian aside so he could be the center of attention. “Yeah, you lookin’ good girl. You must’ve been waiting for me to visit today. Tryin’ to put on a show just for me.”

Denise was a portrait of unimpressed and moderately irritated. Giselle and Suki openly snickered at Rome while Tej seemed to pay silent homage to the brewing putdown that Denise was stirring up.

“Some things never really change, do they? I really hope one of y’all gave Rome the only gift he’s ever needed today?”

“What’s that?” Giselle asked, adjusting Tank’s carrier in her hands.

“A mirror so he can keep up his love affair with himself.”

Suki smoothed her hand over Rome’s back and cooed, “You need some ice for that burn, Romey Rome?”

Rome shook her off brusquely. “Naw, I’m good, just like me and her were back in the day.” He began to enter her space and reversed when she raised her eyebrow at him. “If I remember correctly, you upgraded from the original--” he tilted his head towards Brian, “and opted to try the supreme…”

Suki tsked under her breath, though loud enough for everyone to hear, and pulled Rome’s ear down for a one-on-one conference. “Comparing yourself to food isn’t the best way to get the girl back.”

Tej offered Denise a conciliatory wave and moved in to extend his corralling duties to include his older brother as well. “Yeah, bruh, I think all your motor-mouthing is making Denise remember why she decided to get a refund on her upgrade.” He poked his brother in the ribs which Rome did not allow to go unanswered by smacking his hands for the second time that day.

Rome slid away from the group, bristling as he headed towards the large open patio with the giant courtyard pool. “Time’s a tickin’ and it’s my birthday so I get to do whateva I want, including peacing out of this hater-filled conversation. Now, excuse me, I’m gonna go see the lady that made it all possible. Later, haters!” His voice bounced off the spacious vaulted ceilings and echoed throughout the atria.

Denise waved them on to their next destination, probably hoping that they’d reach Rome before his big mouth scared some of the residents and caused a few broken hips. Dom took another peak at her, sizing up her universally pretty face and coming to the conclusion that he would’ve gone after her too if he had the time and the opportunity _before_.

Meeting Denise also made him realize that he and Brian hadn’t formerly traded stats on their exes. Sure, Brian knew all about Letty but Dom was at a disadvantage about Brian’s exes, because Denise was clearly the opposite of Dom: petite, tight curly-coiled hair, café con leche brown, and one hundred and ten percent female. Obvious facts aside, Brian was well versed in the art of handling stick; whether automatic was his default or not remained to be proven.

The group stood out for several reasons; at the top of the list being under sixty-five, lacking stiff joints and looking like a walking United Colors of Benetton ad. For all the glass, high ceilings and Oceanside views that would have made yuppies with aspirations of Malibu and Orange County fight to the death for a piece of this real estate, the Palm Palisades was a retirement village for very active seniors. A far cry from the chipped paint and stinking settlements that were simply places for old people to be placed on a shelf to rot away for the remainder of their not-so golden years that were sadly too common where they were from.

Like twisting a key in a lock, the place slotted into place among the many fragments of intel he had on Brian and his motivations; now Dom got it. So a place as swanky and manicured as a micro-Malibu for seniors with round the clock services costed a good grip and a half which explained Brian burning both ends of the candle and working as many jobs as possible to pay the lease.

The hotel inspired lobby opened into two wide arms: one leading to the elevators and the apartments above and the other to the multiple points of the dining room, ballroom, theater, gym, and poolside lounge.

“I don’t wanna be old to live like this. Shit, I’ll have to hit the books harder and actually make Apple money to live this rich.” Tej told Dom who agreed in a low grunt as they traveled towards the Activity Wing.

They followed the arrows beyond the main rooms and down the hall where sunlight poured through a wall of windows, letting in the view of the pool packed with an aqua aerobics class, churning away at full steam in the water to the undisturbed calm of the ocean about two miles out from the end of the deck.

They followed after Rome who had zeroed in on a woman positioned at twelve o’clock under a large white umbrella seated at a circular table. As they approached her, they passed by groups of older women draped in airy pashminas or Orange County appropriate sweater vests, all heatedly embroiled in games of bridge or Mah Jong, except when looking up to give Brian and him an approving glance and various degrees of judgmental scowls directed at Rome, Tej, Suki and Giselle.

The word _inappropriate_ came to mind when being checked out by women that reminded him of his Nonna but lacked the skill to demolish opponents like his Abuela in Gin Rummy. Plus, the Palm Palisades couldn’t be that great if there wasn’t a dominoes set in sight.

Dom kept his eyes squarely ahead after a lady dressed in a mishmash of colors like Mrs. Hobbs winked at him and mouthed _come over_ at him. Brian smirked at him over his shoulder and Dom thought of several creative ways to get back at him.

Rome didn’t attempt to pump his breaks, just barreled towards the seated woman. “Hey, Mama!” He swallowed the woman up inside his arms. _Mama_ aka Mama Pearce shared the same flawless winter dark skin with Rome, though her skin had the soft velvety texture that came from added years and could still claim cheekbones that sat high and proud like a queen.

She released Rome after a flurry of cheek kisses to welcome the rest. “Look at my babies!” Her babies not being limited to the pair still in diapers. “So handsome and beautiful.” She said as she gave each one a kiss and warm hug. “I could say many things about your father and if there was enough time in the day, I would, but I will say that he can do one really well--” She welcomed the twins into her arms and cradled the pair against her chest. “And that’s make beautiful babies.”

“It’s great to see you, too, Mama Pearce.” Brian said.

“And I’m happy to see all of you, especially on the big man’s birthday.”

Rome smiled, soft and sweetly. “Yeah, it is!” He looked like a big kid sitting beside his grandmother, soaking up her warmth and her love.

Despite holding the twins, she managed to scratch the bottom of his chin and continued to charm him. “I may or may not have something you like waiting for you underneath that plastic case.”

Somehow Rome’s eyes grew two sizes larger as he stared down the plastic case. “This is why you’re my favorite grandmamma.” He managed to hug her without jostling the twins too much, definitely showing an ounce of self-restraint.

“I’m your only one.” She turned her attention to Dom and gave him a slow once over. Again, Dom found himself straightening up to his full height. “Now, don’t tell me I spoke too soon about that SOB D.O.C.? Who’s the big slab of beef in the back?”

“Oh, Dom?” Suki gave Brian a curious look, tinged with genuine surprise. “He’s _Brian’s_ but still one of ours.”

“Okay, okay.” Her appraisal transitioned from suspicious to approving. “Dom. Short for Dominic?” She asked with a keen eye. “You’re lucky I’m not thirty years younger. I would’ve stolen him like the summer snatches all the moisture outta the air.” Her laugh was smooth and deep alto, rich like warm coffee. “I was a bit of a wild thing when I was younger, so my poor Roman has that wild gene flowing honestly in his blood. _Hmm-hum_ , yes.” Her hum saturated with heavy implication.

Mama Pearce possessed shrewd dark eyes that kept Dom steady in her sights without asking unnecessary questions. The way the corner of her mouth curled as she stealthily weighed his physical specs against the family scuttlebutt told him that old she might be, but the lady probably knew more wildness than Rome could dare to imagine, and he’d be wise not to let her age or her distance from home to fool him into thinking she wasn’t smart. So, in this instance, game had to recognize game, because Mama Pearce was a certified O.G.

“Then I’m starting to feel like I’m unlucky.” Dom flirted back, much to the chagrin of Rome and Brian who wore mirror expressions right down to the scrunched up nose and distasteful head shakes.

Rome interpreted with mouth and waving hands. “I’m gonna have to stop you right there, Big D. Even if me and Almost-But-Not Really Step-Granddaddy ain’t all buddy-buddy, he’s still crazy in love over Mama here, I don’t want you to get in any trouble…”

The older woman reached for the point of Rome’s chin with a finely trembling hand to shift his focus squarely on her and clamped his mouth. “Roman, sweetie, precious, darlin’, baby, you talk too much.” Rome heeded her advice by keeping his mouth closed and the rest of the table looked at her with sheer wonder.

Mama Pearce laughed. “Any of the trouble these two,” meaning Brian and Rome, “--come by is only natural. Back in my time of glory, I worked at the Moulin Rouge.” To Dom’s look of confusion, she shook her head with slight disgust. “This is one of those moments when you need to consult with your good friend Google. It’ll let you know how _real_ I used to be. Well, I should say real raw and outta sight. I worked in Sin City when it was actually fun. Knew Sammy before he went kosher, was kicking high before the Strip got clean, and if Mr. Pearce hadn’t been able to keep up, I woulda made the family tree gain deep with roots in Calabria, caphiche?”

This lady was a treasure.

She released Rome from her side, angling him towards next table. “Now, eat that cake before these sugar hungry kids and all other kinds of hungry old buzzards start circling this way.” The wattage on her glare gave the table a wide clearance of twenty feet in all directions; electric like a security fence.

Rome didn’t need to be told twice to eat the cake his grandmother made. After snapping a picture of it on his phone, he and Brian got to work divvying up the pieces. “So catch me up, my lovelies. Your little texts and phone calls are only giving me little flashes of what’s really goin’ on.” She curled up her fingers, gesturing them to _bring it on_ , also including Dom in the offering circle, the smoothness of the motion disrupted by a steady tremor in her hands.

Giselle started since Rome was in sugar heaven after the first forkful Pineapple Upside Down Cake while Brian was diplomatically serving the rest and Suki was on Rome Watch, giving Giselle and Tej responsibility for feeding the twins. She smiled as Tank gummed a small triangle of pineapple that she held between her fingers.

“I took your advice about those inconveniences.” She said, once again stretching the limit of cryptic speech for a thirteen year old. “You were right: shame is a great motivator. Now, when school starts, the business will be twice has big as before. It’s just supply and demand: I have access to the supply and the kids at school will always drive the demand.” She ended the remark with a sweet smile that reminded Dom of kittens that purred when held then gouged the hell out of the person holding them a second later.

“Good, you apply that same advice. Apply that same tactic to your school work and men and you’ll be unstoppable.”

Tej paused with his first forkful in the air. “Wait, Mama, don’t give Baby Terminator any ideas. We’re not quite ducking around anymore, but we’re not ready for her to go all Lady Army of One on the wrong people.”

“Aw, you were worried, Tej?” Suki poked him in the side. “Don’t worry, the baby sis will protect you from the big bad wannabe racers and corner boys.”

Little sisters, man, they universally had no chill.

Mama Pearce tapped a long knobby finger on the tabletop. The _rap-rap_ of her fingernail the only signal required to sew up that stream of teasing. “Leave your brother alone. He’s a wise man trying to think ahead for your pack. How’s school, Tej? I hope you can focus with all the girls throwing themselves at you.”

Rome came up for air between forkfuls. “What girls? Tej is a computer nerd. There ain’t no girls trying to be like Little Urkel.”

Dom cleared his throat. “You forgot about my sister, Rome.”

Rome finished another bite. “Well, your sister’s like a unicorn so she don’t count.”

“I’ll let her know that next time she decides to bake for you again.” He’d let Rome have all the burned edges he could stuff between his lips. The resulting laughter was definitely pointed at Rome. When it reached a natural still point, Tej and Giselle took the twins over to the pool’s edge where they could play in the water and be swarmed by the previously water punching posse. Rome snagged another slice in a napkin before floating off in Denise’s direction again, with Suki following closely behind him, which now left Brian and Dom with Mama Pearce.

Sensing the desire for a little privacy, Dom offered Brian a small glance to the side, indicating a place that was out of eavesdropping range, though visibly close by.

A place like this was good for Dom’s self-esteem due to the increasing numbers of older lady retirees sending him come hither glances while the nursing staff did the same. He was even aware of the slightly less obvious looks of appreciation from a couple of the male residents.

The mental three-sixty this place was taking him for would have induced nausea in a person who didn’t live up close and personal with life’s tight corners and head-on confrontations. Palm Palisades presented an equation with enough variables to be reminiscent of the stuff Mia tore through on a nightly basis.

Dom couldn’t fathom residing anywhere else but 1327—at this age or fifty years from now. He couldn’t imagine being old and surrounded by the wider extensions of his family. To reach old age would mean that Dom had survived in spite of himself—persevered over his bad habit to jump head first into situations.

The big glowing question in the face of this speculative thinking was where did Brian fit into this equation? Imagining being without Brian in any capacity as less than what they were at present left Dom feeling a sudden drop in his stomach despite the earth not having moved. Just as a skipped heart beat stole the breath, this stray thought disquieted Dom down to his marrow. Like plenty of other shit in his life, Dom could bury this thought deep and not look back. They were a matched set for the foreseeable future and tangled together as they hurdled towards whatever would come next.

Dom took a seat at an empty table behind Tej and Giselle at the pool. Noise carried despite the games happening at surrounding tables. His attention drawn by Brian’s low, dry tone.

“… I owe you, so I’ve gotta pay my debt.”

She placed her hands on his cheeks. They stood out in stark relief against his tanned cheeks. “My boy, in families there are no debts, just what’s due. It makes me sad that no one taught you that.” She was earnest like cold steel, demonstrating why she was one of the few people that Brian could rely on.

Dom almost regretted hearing them talk as his heart now broke for Brian. But that stubbornness that carried him through to get his way assured him that he would help Brian fill in those gaps about what family did for each other.

Again, Dom caught the tail of another thread of conversation. “—invite your friend over.” And Dom had looked up then.

Brian caught him looking and laughed, “I know you heard the lady’s request, so c’mon.”

Dom did as he was told. “I was just keeping an eye on half of the future bail jumpers you call sisters.”

Mama Pearce began to laugh as he got settled. “Why worry about bail? I taught those girls everything I know so they’ll never have to worry about making bail, because they won’t get caught.” As she laughed, strands of her snow white hair fell from beneath the edges of her red turban.

She turned in her wheelchair just enough to make Dom her only focal point. The narrowing of her eyes coasting on the sharpness of her look got him sitting up too and waiting for her opening strike.

To Dom, she said, “I’ve heard about your job and your hobbies. Gotta say I loved them bad boys too when I was young and stronger. Probably ran circles around most them after a while. And from what I’ve heard about you, it seems like we’re birds of a feather.”

“Maybe,” Dom answered her.

“So I still have one question: What kind of man are you?”

Dom didn’t rush to answer her. Brian tuned up his icy glare at his scattered brothers and sisters for snitching to Mama Pearce about him and Dom.

“Mama--” Brian started, immediately jumping to Dom’s defense but impeded by the twin head shakes from Dom and Mama Pearce to freeze future words on his tongue.

“Keep your chill, Bri. It’s just time that Dominic and I have a conversation.” Her tone was as sweet as California grapes, lacking in the back-burning bitterness of wine. “I’m sure you understand why we gotta have this talk, cuz I’d hate for you to think that just cuz I’m not living in my house means that I don’t know what’s happenin’ or who’s _comin_ ’--” her words fell into a heavy silence and think with implications. “—or _goin_ ’ from my home.”

Dom could imagine it, much in the same way that Giselle had surprised him at the shop—her little ploy to force them to have their little one on one. The other suspects had come up here while Brian had been occupied with the Harry’s, the GT-R, or presumably with Dom.

Despite only being just shy of fully legal himself, Brian was a grown man and definitely without want or desire to be coddled. But his family was of a different mindset. Dom knew his confidence and faith in himself could sometimes be characterized as arrogance, though he’d admit without hesitation that he didn’t think that he was the catalyst for O’Conner-Pearce clan’s protective streak. If anything, the ostentatious closure of the familial ranks declared that whatever or whoever had previously crossed Brian’s path had established the precedent.

Brian cleared his throat before leaning deeper into her space, the worn denim over his knees brushing the silver body of her wheelchair. “We need to talk about Tanner." He expertly deflected. "He came by looking for you yesterday. Tanner’s not gonna let us go. Even though we’re doing fine, he’s keeping to the books and is just making shi—stuff difficult for us.”

Mama Pearce didn’t blink at Brian’s course correction in his language. In fact, her temper piqued. “I understand you’re having problems with the Man. Lemme know what you need and I’ll take care of it. You can’t hate Tanner for actually doing his job. Despite the circumstances, he’s trying his best to help, even if it is a bit after the fact. Tanner’s trying to make up for lost time.” There was mutual resent rising in the air. A gnawing disenchantment with a system that would give a lifetime loser repeated custody of his kids despite his repeated failure to actually raise them.

“—Anyway, back to happier things.” She could’ve gone for another jab at either the system or DOC but the old woman held her tongue. For a man like DOC, responsibility was a four-letter word and obviously someone else’s problem. Always. “You give Roman a night to remember, hear me? Make sure you have his back like always.”

“I always do.” It was a promise that Brian could easily keep.

“I know.” Mama Pearce gave him a final pat on the cheek. “You’re too young and handsome to be so road weary.” She turned to Dom. “You help him with that.” The demand clear, though her words were as sweet as her cake.

Dom was willing to step up for Brian. “I will.” The idea of doing so felt right.

With the heaviness resolved, Mama Pearce recalled the rest of the herd to the table, beckoning to eat more cake like a good grandmother would. Somehow half of the mega slice she forced on Brian ended up in front of Dom obliterated, making him remember the ghost of Tito Gordito and the curse of Husky pants. So, yeah, he’d put sometime in doing some reps or cardio or climbing a tree or something to make him sweat before the end of the day.

Once the cake plate was empty, they assembled for a final reception of kisses and hugs from their matriarch. None of them messed with Rome for getting a little wet-eyed.

“Make sure he treats you right and not just pretends to.” She told Brian with a steadiness that lacked room to be defied.

Dom didn’t resist when Mama Pearce turned to him with open arms and welcoming grin.

Dom stepped into the hug, carefully closing his arms around her bird-like shoulders. “I hope to see you and not just hear about you, Dominic.” Her grip tightened as he started to detach. “If it doesn’t work out, leave fast. Don’t linger. Don’t give my boy anymore wounds.” Her knobby fingers dug into the meat of his muscles. “Even strong things can break. So you be good to him or…” she delivered the rest of her threat in a quiet whisper that promised to make his nightmares about Lompoc seem as light as a Care Bears adventure.

Once she released him the tremble in her hands returned. And with that ended the visit to grandma’s coastal townhouse resort.

* * *

The ride back was twice as long now that they had to fight afternoon traffic to head east. They breezed through the city back to Watts, cresting on the comfortable quiet of minimal conversation and the bubbling tempo of liquid of hip-hop.

Since Dom always measured his life in stretches of miles, the soft blur of L.A. streets to the soft babble of the music gave a minor headrush—a frontal collision with the future. In the past he listened to Mia and Jesse talk about alternate timelines and parallel dimensions—nerd talk that had only made him and Vince snicker and roll their eyes hard, because some conversations between Jesse and Mia could only be understood by the average person in some alternate place. Because in some alternate space in time, between the blinks of an eye, he’d be a kid riding shotgun beside his dad, and then in between life and death in another; but right now, he was beside Brian, riding shotgun with an unexpected ease that defined just about everything between him and Brian.

Why he thought of this now?

Meeting the O’Conner-Pearce Clan matriarch sharpened the angles on the image he had on Brian. Mama Pearce might have cut a sweet and frail figure but the lady reminded him of his Nonna, the little that he remembered of her, down to the sweet sideways curl of her mouth that declared _I can judge you because I have lived longer than you and fucked up more times than you ever will_. Still a little raw from her prescient judgment, Dom felt oddly comforted by Mama Pearce chin-checking him about his relationship with Brian.

“You’re kinda quiet over there? I could merge right if you’re thinking about bailing.” Brian delivered the last bit with his eyes on the road. “My bad for not being up front about what we were doing.”

“I think you’re jumpin’ the gun. I don’t see any smoke or fire, so why do you think I wanna bail?”

Brian remained silent. “Third degree makes everyone uncomfortable.”

“So?” Meeting the family was a big step in any culture. “Yeah, it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. Actually, I think she liked me.”

Brian smirked. “Yeah, I think so, too. As long as I give her good reports, she definitely will.”

The conversation dropped into quiet for a few moments until Dom broke the silence. “I saw the way her hands shake. What’s she got—Parkinsons?”

“Yeah, she had a stroke too which was scary as hell and has some serious kidney problems.”

Dom learned one thing this afternoon: if Dom lived his life in quarter mile stretches, then Brian lived in his via the number of his debts.

Again, they fell into silence which lasted for the span of five blocks closer to the little house in Watts. As they neared the house, Brian started talking. “Once I smiled back at this old lady who winked at me and they had to call EMS.”

“No shit?” Dom was equally as impressed as he was horrified.

The GT-R settled back into its spot in front of the house, allowing Brian and Dom the luxury of a few moments of peace before the others caught up. “She survived but I learned to keep my eyes ahead and flashing the pearlies to a minimum.”

“So full of shit, Snow Man.”

“Rude and racist…what kinda taste do I have.”

So Dom might’ve leaned to put a pause on the steady flow of bullshit by occupying Brian’s mouth with something more satisfying. He had to admit that he enjoyed the way Brian always wrapped his fingers up in his chain whenever they kissed, as if he was trying to tie himself to Dom.

Dom leaned into Brian's touch. “She was right about one thing.” No strip of skin was more intimate than running over short slope of the nose and Brian did it slow and perfectly.

Brian ran his tongue over the corner of his lip that Dom had just caught with his teeth. “What’s that?”

“There’s no debt with family.” Dom let the quiet rumble of his voice linger then stole Brian’s breath with a long kiss that twisted and turned without end.

“Dom--”Brian started then sighed. He looked at Dom before flicking his eyes away. “Rome is hers by blood and law. When she took him in, she didn’t have to get the others, too. Certainly didn’t have to let me stay with them. I was already eighteen, so she could’ve told me to keep kicking rocks and left it at that. But she didn’t.” Brian rarely let off steam with words, so Dom remained quiet until he was formerly finished.

Then he continued, “She took care of us, so we have to take care of her. That’s what families do, right?”

“You can take care of each other without what you do being considered a debt.” Dom countered.

“Sure, Dom.” Disbelief still potent in Brian’s soft reply.

That head start from Palm Palisades Brian leveraged into a solid ten minute break. The urge to take this behind closed doors was less demanding compared to the warm lassitude that came from marathon kissing.

When Dom came up for air, he cast an eye around and spotted something on the front steps. “You expecting a package?”

“No, why?” Brian's voice was low rasp that whispered across Dom's lips.

Dom dipped his chin towards the front door. “Looks like you guys missed a delivery.” On the front steps was a clutch of balloons tied to the door and small white box on the top step.

The decision to investigate was made as the second car finally turned into the driveway. A minute later, the siblings gathered cautiously on the front walkway, forming a half-crescent around the packages and the door. The cluster of vinyl birthday-themed balloons swayed with the wind. The top of the white cardboard box was covered with a purple envelope. _Roman_ was written in black, block print across the center.

Mrs. Hobbs stood under the shaded arm of her porch, watching her little dog run the length of the fence. She waved to Brian. “There was a man waiting at your door. Didn’t look good so I told him to go before I called the cops.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Hobbs!” Suki supplied too cheerfully, expressing the sentiments of the others.

Collectively, they realized who had left the gifts on the doorstep at the same time. The siblings took a big step back from the birthday loot, as if they were set to be imminently cursed.

“Since it’s your birthday, you do whatever you want with this stuff.” Brian told Rome without moving closer to the steps.

Rome dismissed the box without peaking inside. “I’ll keep the card. Trash the rest.” Which led to Dom standing guard over Giselle while she viciously eliminated the balloons with the sharp tip of her hair clip. He was charged with dropping the confetti print carcasses in the garbage cans.

Giselle lifted the lid to inspect the contents. The smell of sugar from a dozen of Bob’s Donuts tickled his nose. Her mouth cinched into pouting frown. “I’ll take these to the shelter a couple of blocks over.” Her tone decisive and final.

“I’ll let them know.” Dom told her.

She secured the box to the back of her bike then kicked down the throttle. He watched her reverse down the driveway before angling the bike north and taking to the street.

The O’Conner kids had dealt with their share of shit, so refusing to melt at the smallest show of affection from their dad was reasonable. The man tended to remember their existence at his convenience.

The house was quiet when Dom went back inside. Suki sat on the couch watching Twink and Tank scoot-crawl-twist over the road scenery themed blanket.

Before he could ask where Brian was, she offered up, “Bri and Tej are with Rome, trying to calm him down.”

“What happened?”

She picked up a birthday card from the table. “With our dad, nice gestures are always painful.” She handed him the envelop and at his hesitation to open Rome’s card, she nudged him to go ahead.

Dom opened the birthday card to discover two photos inside: a family photo from years before the twins arrived and one with little Brian and Rome with Rome’s mother. A gorgeous woman who could’ve made Naomi Campbell insecure.

“You should go. This is gonna take a while to calm down.”

Dom handed her back the card. “Giselle dropped the box off elsewhere.”

Without looking up again, Suki said in a detached tone, “Good.”

**

By the time he reached 1327 again, Dom decided to send Brian a text to see if anything had changed.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35011355843/in/dateposted-public/)

* * *

This was one of those nights where Dom had to _forcibly_ remind himself that Mia was eighteen. Eighteen. Eighteen. Legal. Grown Woman. Independent Single Lady. The whole freaking shebang.

This mental march kept up a steady thrum: constant and usually in the same tremulous manner as realizing that you had an empty stretch of street with no traffic, no lights, and perfect wind, the only negative being knowing that the cops were waiting just out of sight, maybe, behind the roadside sign ahead to pop their lights and get any pedal happy roller for testing their luck. Just like then versus now, either situation led to the same conclusion: it was a trap.

Dom was older than Mia. Sometimes, the distance between them almost seemed absurd. He was older than her because his Pop and Mami had been young and in love and produced a bouncing baby boy who was a giant handful and got wrapped up in him and the garage and the café and the house until half his childhood had almost gone by when he was introduced to the idea of having a little brother or sister. So again, Dom wasn’t old; it was just default for him and Mia to be so far apart in their stages in life that it never seemed possible for them to be moving through the same places at the same time.

Watching her toss her hair artfully in the upstairs hallway mirror left Dom momentarily breathless and dumb, because this was that moment when he finally realized that Mia had caught up.

As she descended the stairs in a little white dress, he fought the reflex that triggered him to meet her half way and demand that she go right back up the stairs and try again. Dom imagined if he opened his mouth some eerie reproduction of their Pop’s thickly rounded consonants would come spilling out. But he blinked first and breathed in deep secondly and let the mental track start once more-- _she was a grown woman_. Heaven help him but she was.

The way Vince’s jaw hit the floor proved just how grown she was in his eyes.

Dom nudged his best friend, none too gently with his shoulder and his voice dropped into that low brusque that always carried a wave of warning, intentional or not. “Seriously, V, you ain’t gonna win her over lookin’ at her like that.” Dom said, hoping that thumping Vince on the head wasn’t the next step in deterring his attention.

Vince blinked in Mia’s direction for a long stream of seconds. “What?” He directed at Dom without looking away. “Looks nice is all. I mean, she always looks nice, cuz she’s Mia, but right now…”

“V--” Dom added a growl as a side order to that head bump. “Cool it.”

The Old Coyote, a nickname that Vince had carried for so long—Dom didn’t know how it started—dipped his head to the left, then the right like a dog quirking a floppy ear as it heard a silent whistle.

Vince shook his head like his namesake flinging water from its coat. Blinked almost sleepily once before construing his face in the usual pattern of mild suspicion and simmering disdain that he normally offered the world at large. “I feel like I’ve just watched a shooting star and now I’m not sure what to do from here. All I know is that Princess Peach and his brothers, Mario and Luigi, better have some grub at this shindig or otherwise it’s gonna be a bust.”

Leave to Vince to keep his head in the game and be focused on life’s basic necessities. a Dom nodded once and grinned.“ Feels like I owe you a pat on the back for that one. At least this time, I’m not worried about you getting gang-stomped for runnin’ your mouth.“ The only basic needs that mattered according to Vince could be relegated to five categories: food, family, cars, tunes, and chicks. Anything outside these parameters was extraneous and subject to mocking and poking with sharp objects, words and fingers included. Brian still fit outside of Vince’s strict classification system, but Dom could hear the warmth in his voice, knowing that if things continued to move along that Brian, nicknames and all, would fit in like the rest within that first category.

“Just a slip of the tongue,” Vince admitted, but quickly added, “But, seriously, I made friends with Baby Xena: Warrior Princess, and I’m not trying to mess that up, so I know how to pick my battles.” Vince made an effort of shrugging noncommittally and definitely not as if he was still wary of--but not scared of Giselle, deliberately grimacing at the starched stiffness of his collared shirt instead. Easily a thing that Dom hadn’t seen him in since his last visit with someone bearing the title _Your Honor_ and swinging a gavel. He looked as uncomfortable on the outside as Dom had previously felt inside.

“I hear that.” Dom chuckled to himself and waited for Mia to reach him. The fact that she had selected identical shades of white for her dress and his shirt reminded him of being much younger. A time when it was still cool for his Mami to coordinate their Easter outfits to match.

He grinned at Mia as she did a brief spin at the bottom of the stairs and struck a ridiculous pose. “So thoughts?” She asked Dom with the slightest suggestion of a challenge in her voice, expecting him to step into their Pop’s shoes and boss her around, mentally steeling herself in case that he did.

Dom shook his head once, knowing just how to sidestep that little landmine. Because his sister could dig in her heels and be just as stubborn as he was, except she was far craftier at waiting him out. He offered her a big hug and a brief kiss into her hair that smelled like tropical flowers and tickled his nose.

“Actually, I’m thinking since we’ve got this white on white thing going, we should pay homage to Mami’s favorite Easter picture of us. You already know the one that I’m talking about.” He said, causing Mia to cup her mouth as she laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea. Dom had seen people reenacting childhood photos twenty years later online; all done just so that their parents could get a kick out of them. Even though, their parents were gone, they could still enjoy the opportunity to be a little ridiculous.

“I don’t think I can pull off the white bonnet with the chin strap and not to be mean, I don’t think you’re really the white fedora type. But still--”Mia’s laugh descended into a series of less than attractive snorts that made Jesse and Leon crack up. “—somethings are best left in the past.”

Their Mami’s favorite Easter picture had been taken the Sunday of Mia’s first Easter mass. He remembered being nine and stuffed into all white: dress pants, long sleeved button up, patterned vest with gold buttons, and a white hat blocking the sun from his eyes. Then there’d been Mia who was placed in his arms after their Pop had positioned them on the front steps. Mia hadn’t been happy that Sunday, had cried most of the morning no matter how many songs their mother sang her or how many times their Pop bounced her. She’d been swimming in the big white dress with the matching cap that tied under her baby fat chin. After getting in his arms, she’d stopped crying long enough for their Mami to get a few pictures. Then Dom had made a funny face because the hat made his head itch and that face made baby Mia light up and grin. That was the first picture where Mia had ever smiled and it had been for Dom.

“Another time then.” Dom suggested.

“Definitely, Mano. Now let me finish my rounds so all of us can make it beyond the rope, invitations or not,” Then Mia floated off to make her inspection of the others. “Plus, we need to look good so my friend doesn't get scared off.”

Dom arched one brow, instantly on guard at the mention of a _friend_. “You didn’t mention a friend before.”

“Yeah, this sandbox friend or _I wanna hold your hand friend_?” Vince bristled with suspicion. Since Vince wasn’t inclined to like most people, anyone trying to get close to Mia was a persona non grata.

Mia pursed her lips as she bit back a laugh. Her dark eyes sparkling as she held back the tide. “I guess you could say library friend or Computer Science Gal Pal or Coffee Queen. Too many titles to choose from, so I’ll leave the descriptors to her when she gets here. Any way you look at it, I’m still winning because I made an awesome friend who gets computers, science, and just about everything I’m into except cars.”

Hearing the distinct _her_ caused him and Vince to exhale. He was trying to shed the overprotective instinct when it came to Mia, but only so much could be feasibly expected in such a short period. The _her_ might have put him at ease though it left him considering who he was happily gearing up to see later that night and how that unexpected turn of events could just as easily occur with his sister.

From the corner of his eye, Dom caught Letty’s silhouette in the kitchen door, having apparently missed her earlier entrance. Her dress was fire red, a color that looked good on her, even if the cut of the dress made her look uncomfortable. Leave it to Letty to put on a beautiful dress and turn into a shrinking violet.

Vince whistled beside him. “Let, where you been hidin’ that one? A dress like that makes me think I need some courage.” Any guy who stepped up to her in that dress or in her usual uniform of baggy cargos and a tight tank needed to have balls of steel if he thought she’d get gooey over a compliment or two.

She stepped into the arch of their little half circle, rolling her eyes at him playfully. “Yeah, a dress like this should make you twice as scared of me, cuz I got these,” she pointed at her very pointy heels that matched the dress. Heels that looked like they could pick ice or drive thin nails into concrete.

“You sure you can walk in those?” The heels put her nearly eye to eye with him and Vince but left him wagering about three hours tops before she was dropping loose curses and hugging the walls because her feet were killing her.

Letty traced a finger down the crisp lines of his new shirt. “I’m thinking it’s as likely as you not ripping the sleeves off your shirt.” The little cant of her head had a knowing bent to it—cool-tempered and teasing without any real beneath her words, miles different that the heaviness of the previous night. “—Or maybe, you’re expecting someone else to do the ripping…Might be entertaining to watch.”

Vince laughed into his fist, choking very unconvincingly.

She moved on to Vince like a predator approaching a fresh meal. Her heels going _tap-tap-tap_ as she moved between them. “Don’t think you’re off the hook. I’ll give you a B—no, B+ because you look polished, smell good, and look a little less like Wolverine with your hair slicked back like that.”

So Dom made a better show of not laughing at the downturn of Vince’s mouth, which was indeed a pout and not the manly scowl that he claimed, leading up to the countdown to the micro-explosion. Dom closed the door as Vince groused, “One, Wolverine is badass. Two, I look damn good—”.

He stepped out onto the porch with his phone in hand.

Despite the exchange from before, Dom still had his doubts that things in the House of O’Conner were as copacetic as Brian’s text portrayed. Needing to feel reassured, he opted for opening FaceTime instead of snapping off a text or attempting a call. In his short study of Brian, he’d realized that Brian could lie like a rug with a steady voice and a straight face but his eyes sold him out more often than not.

He stepped into a well-lit corner of the porch when Brian appeared on the screen and from behind him also came an ungodly wall of noise.

Brian mouthed _hold on_ and dropped the phone to his side as he entered the fray. A series of voices battling over music that was way too old for an hour when all good little boys, girls, and definitely infants needed to be down for the count.

Dom could hear the braided streams of Suki and Giselle arguing with Brian who finally kicked up the base in his voice and settled the argument. “Enough already. End of discussion. You’re not going with us, so you’ve got two options: either give me your stash now, G and you go get Twink and Tank back from Mrs. Hobbs, Suki, or I’ll go do both and we’ll all stay here and have to listen to Rome bitch for the rest of the night. Hell, I’ll even call Poquito Sofrito for an order of the Belly Beast, just so Rome can blow up this joint.”

The music was turned down low enough for Tej’s disapproving “Damn, Po-Po, I know you can be cold, but that’s just straight up mean. Threatening us with the Belly Beast and Rome’s expected GI distress. That ain’t even right.”

Still a few shades of cooler than winter, Brian answered, “That’s their choice.” He said. “The only thing worse than Rome blowing off the roof is Tanner hearing that we don’t know what eighteen and up means.”

After a beat, Suki dropped a sullen, “Fine.”

“And you, G?” Brian asked.

Having been the recipient of that feline glare, Dom figured this stare down could last until sunrise if the girl really decided to dig in her heels. Reminding him that maybe he should be on the lookout for Letty becoming the Jedi to Giselle’s Padawan. Because the world wasn’t ready for the outcome of that tutelage.

“Sure, whatever.” Giselle said in a frosty imitation of her brother.

“Thank you,” Brian said, “Now I want your whole stash. I know when you’re holding out and I’ll find them if you are. Don’t test me, G.” Reminding Dom of earlier when he too had to push Vince to stay in line.

Despite Brian saying that they were back to cool and easy in Casa O’Conner, Dom deduced that the short yoke on Brian’s temper was a result of D.O.C.’s little pop-up earlier. Otherwise, Dom had never seen Brian pull rank so thoroughly on his littles before.

Dom could practically feel Giselle’s eye roll that she threw at her older brother before silently marching off to comply with his orders. This time Dom enjoyed the fact that his baby sister was an adult and far removed from the tumultuous throes of teen angst.

The matter now settled, the camera’s eye bounced around mostly transmitting blurry dark shapes of furniture and the walls until the familiar stormy ocean blue comforter came into view, the noise dropping considerably as Brian shut the door behind him.

Brian put himself at the center of the camera’s eye. “Sorry, just had to clear up some last minute drama before we roll out.”

“I didn’t know you could regulate like that, Wyatt Earp. I think you may need to sleep with one eye open for a while until Lil Sis forgives you.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll take that option to the one where I’m dumb enough to let my thirteen and fifteen year old sisters go clubbing downtown for a few hours.” The incredulity of the situation showing on his face. “I’m sure that decision will go over real well with Tanner.”

“Smart move.” Dom replied while watching Brian adjust his grin from frustrated to cautiously excited; an expression that Dom reciprocated.

Continuing, Brian returned to the situation at hand and declared bluntly: “Right? So on top of G’s little exam answer empire, she’s got this thing for fake IDs. Like, so good if you got busted there’s maybe an eighty percent you’re gonna walk if you can hold your shit together good.”

“You must be so proud.” Dom had little room to tease. Just the thought of Mia at Giselle or Suki’s age following him to some of the places he used to hang out would’ve given him a coronary. He had to commend Brian for his mutually assured destruction fail-safe to call their bluff. Neither Giselle or Suki struck him as the types to back down without enough incentive and Brian was proving that stubbornness was his third best talent after his skills behind a wheel and his body in motion with music.

Brian scrubbed his fingers across his eyes. “Normally, yeah, I’m proud cuz making good ID’s takes skill and she goes good work, knows how to keep herself out of trouble, and use her head. Right now though, I’m not in the mood for the side order of certifiable crazy that’ll come from their little attempt at family bonding.”

Dom could understand the girls’ intentions, even if they weren’t plausible. Rome’s big day was a big deal for them, meaning it was only fair that the whole family celebrate together. The day had started out that way: why couldn’t it conclude on the same note?

He was caught up looking at Brian’s eyes that were still red—tired, mostly; but somewhere in the pink, Dom assumed there was the faintest bit of sadness trying to shy away from his inspection. He started picking out the right words to ask Brian about the earlier situation when two hard pounds came from Brian’s right, followed by two more on the door.

“It’s delivery time.” Brian stated, dropping the phone to his side again to open the door to accept the hand-off from Giselle. “You’ll get these back in the morning… _The real morning_ ,” Brian made the compromise crystal clear.

“Then you should be back before morning then, otherwise I’ll have to find them for myself.” Giselle countered like a one-two combo to the chin. The camera jolted as Brian was pulled into an embrace engineered by Giselle.

Then the camera took a few dizzying turns until Dom was eye to eye with Giselle with Brian standing over her shoulder looking exasperated. “Dom, make sure my brother has fun tonight and not Rome’s version of fun.”

Dom grinned back. “I think I can manage that.” An easy promise to keep.

The small quirk of her mouth that flashed her dimples promised dire consequences if Dom did not live up to his promise. She flashed her brother a look that could’ve been cataloged among a long list of things that a thirteen year old shouldn't know.

Brian started reaching for the phone which didn’t automatically mean he could access it. “Alright, G, you know the rule: no threats after ten o’clock.” Giselle’s height and proportionate reach kept the phone firmly in her hands and swimming away from his.

She rocked up on her toes to kiss Brian’s cheek. “You know I don’t make threats.” Yeah, they both knew Baby Sis made promises. Then she rewarded him with a quick flash of her wagging tongue and a giggle.

She tossed Brian back the phone and closed his door again, laughing as she made her way down the hall to celebrate the return of Twink and Tank from their brief respite with Mrs. Hobbs. “Look who I got--” Suki’s voice carried from deeper in the house like the airy warble of a radio broadcast.

Just as soon as he closed the door and held up the phone again, another series of impatient knocks were beat against the door. Only one guess needed about who was on the other side.

“Yo, Bri--” Rome’s voice followed the rapping at the door. “I need to ask you somethin’. C’mon, open up.”

Brian looked into the camera and Dom spoke first, “I’ll wait.” Brian smiled gratefully but that look melted off his face as he was already being treated to another round of Rome’s manic knocking.

“What?” Brian answered barely restraining the clip in his voice. “What do you need, Rome?”

Dom could see that Brian took a step back as Rome shouldered in to occupy the majority of the doorway.

Rome didn’t hesitate to explain his sudden emergent state of being requiring Brian’s attention. “As you can see, bruh, I’m looking two fly to fail tonight—like the lovechild of GQ, Ebony, and Esquire in one sexy and mature package. Lookin’ like a younger, sexier Tyson Beckford…”

Brian interrupted the steady stream of Rome’s self-flattery. “Rome, if you don’t get to the point, the only place I’m going is to get tape for your mouth.”

Rome might’ve looked hurt for a total of two seconds. Dom couldn’t be precise due to the angle of the camera. “So I was thinking the only way I could look sharper is if you lemme… hold the _watch_?” Then the room grew quiet. Like silent after a fart in church quiet. Whatever Rome must have seen on Brian’s face had diminished some of his cocksureness that Brian would agree with him.

“Rome--”Brian released in a tired breath. “—seriously not a good idea.”

“C’mon, please Po-Po. Look at me, man. The only thing I need is the watch to take me from next level to full blown masterpiece.”

“—or just a full blown fool.” Tej yelled from somewhere beyond Brian’s door.

Rome yelled back twice as loudly. “Shut it up, Baby Einstein. Grown folks is talkin’, so mind ya business or get left here with Sheera and the rest of the Thundercats.” Then he turned back to Brian, attempting to put on his most angelic expression. A face that wouldn’t have fooled Mama Pearce either.

Dom heard Brian sigh, “I’ve got so many reasons to say no--”

Rome interjected like a bolt of lightning. “But it’s my birthday!” He dropped the well-known factoid because, obviously, it was his only card to place. “You gotta, bruh. Please. I promise I’ll take good care of it and make you proud as I’ll look so good, I’ll get asked to be the next James Bond: Brutha Bond.” He took a breath. “Did I mention it’s my birthday?”

“That it is, Rome. So, here you go.” Brian tossed the phone on the bed, leaving Dom with a perfect view of the white stucco on the ceiling in his room. “I’m trusting you, alright. That means: no scuffs, no breaks, and you get it back to me as soon as we get home.”

“You got my word on that, Po-Po. Thanks, bruh.”

The door closed behind him, then a few moments followed before Brian picked up his phone again.

“So, I’ve still gotta put on my shirt.”

This was not the time to bring up before, so Dom decided to pick up his questions later, even if a club wasn’t the best place to talk. “How about I let you go now and just see you in thirty instead?”

“Sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

“Then hurry up and get dressed. Rome doesn’t seem like he’ll be too forgiving if you move at _abuelita_ speed.”

Brian wagged a finger at Dom from the other side of the screen. “Just for that, Imma tell our _abuelita_ you said that. Then we’ll see how fast you move when she tries to get you."

* * *

They did the responsible thing that night by having Dom drive the RX-7 with Vince riding shotgun while Leon and Jesse cruised together in the GT-R and Mia and her USC bestie, Ramsey, rode with Letty in her Nissan.

Just seeing the line of people outside the doors was a big enough reason for Dom why he stayed local more often than not when he decided to party. Because the dudes standing in front of the door with their clipboards and ear pieces tried to act like they possessed an all knowing eye to go with their very rarely used muscle. Well-versed in deceptive appearances, Dom kept his face blank as they approached the wall of muscle.

So he might have eyed the four bodies around the door, not feeling an ounce of respect towards them, unlike his new acquaintance Klaus, and did a piss poor job of keeping his lack of awe off his face.

Not that his low estimation mattered. The moment Dom pulled out Rome’s ridiculous invites, the lone lady standing between the big bodies was waving them forward to follow behind the tight lines and smooth curves of her off-tan halter dress into the depths of the club.

Vince followed at Dom’s shoulder, bumping into Dom every so often as they traversed the sea of beautiful bodies and thumping music. As they approached a helical staircase downwind of the black and gleaming quicksilver of the bar, Dom said over his shoulder to Vince, “Don’t trip.”

Because Vince’s eyes were squarely on the double-wide backside bouncing in that dress like it was ready to serve up his last meal.

“That might be asking too much,” Vince snickered, barely audible over the bass.

They continued upwards until they reached the top floor that opened up to a crop of low tables which further unfurled into several wide arms encompassing the entirety of the floor that contained platforms with wide wrap around couches partially hidden from view by diaphanous drapes acting as ceiling high partitions.

The hostess led them to the widest platform that was positioned to overlook the dance floor and the aerial perches of the pros dancing from suspended platforms and cages and the veritable mix of activity in the levels between the dancing and mingling high above.

She ushered them into the booth. “Enjoy yourselves and if you need anything--”she said, pointedly returning Vince’s stare with dark bedroom eyes, “let me know how I may assist you.” Leon and Vince took the time to watch her leave until Letty punched them each in the chest to snap them out of the _ass goes bye-bye_ trance.

Dom was familiar with most of the bodies spread out on the couch. Slap Jack and Orange Julius threw up hands in greeting and went back to talking to the girls sandwiched between them. Caesar, Hector’s cousin at the Fox Hole, reached out giving Dom five then pulled him in a partial hug. Dom returned it the gesture, acting like they were cool, though they’d never really said much to each other before tonight.

Next in the receiving line was Sophie who was dolled up and pretty in a starlight inspired dress. She made a show of fanning herself. “You know how to dress to impress, Dom. Just know if a riot breaks out, you only have yourself to blame.”

He rolled with her teasing and offered her an equally appreciative slow eye scroll. “If I’m going down for starting a riot then you should be prepared to go down with me.”

“I wish,” she laughed, already looking behind him at the rest of the team. “Your friends?”

“Family.” He introduced Mia and went down the line until he was done with the rest. Noticing from the start the appreciative looks Sophie and Leon were throwing each other. Yeah, he’d let them work that out for themselves.

Almost to the O’Conner trio, Dom’s path was blocked by another big body that didn’t resemble Klaus.

“Hobbs, right?” Dom said by way of introduction, lighting a fire under the bullshit. Because they were already fairly familiar even if they’d never spoken.

Hobbs grinned broad and white. A giant smile of nothing but perfect teeth. “Toretto: mechanic, food delivery boy, and street driver.” He recited like he’d studied a case file on Dom.

Dom returned the grin, mentally supplying an _asshole_ as its sunny cherry. “Yeah, all that and more. Not such a bad memory for a gym rat.”

Hobbs’s grin sharpened like a shark’s. “I do alright, Hoss, though it looks like I’m not the only one who hasn’t met a rack of that he didn’t like. Maybe you should come in some time and let me put you through the paces.”

That day would be when hell was three times frozen over. “Maybe.” Dom led with his shoulder to swim around Hobbs’s blockade to the Brothers O’Conner.

When they stood in profile, Hobbs huffed out a big laugh and clapped Dom on the shoulder. “With a yard no longer between us, I’m not sure if I see the hype.”

“Maybe it’s just the lighting, cuz _Impressive_ is my middle name.” Then Dom angled towards the birthday boy and his oh so patient brothers.

Of course, the birthday boy spotted him first. “You made it, Big D!” Rome greeted Dom with a champagne flute in hand. “And you brought some fine company… _Real fine_ to my party.” He muttered as his eyes got big as he took in the spectacular sight Mia presented and the once in a lifetime experience of Letty in a dress and heels.

Birthday or not, Dom was compelled to shake him up. So Dom pointed out a couple of things. “Just remember that I know where you live and where you sleep when you’re talking to that _fine company_.”

“Ok, I’ll remember that,” Rome quickly conceded, though he might have muttered something along the lines _of I know where you sleep, too_ , but the music was too loud to hear him well. “But it’s still my birthday, so welcome to my grown and sexy party, where the only goal is to party like you’re barely legal.” He ensnared Dom in a giant hug before letting go. “I do have one job for you tonight: you gotta get a least one pic of me and my bros, cuz we representin’ all the beauty from across the world tonight.”

That Dom could do. “Sure.”

Rome hadn’t been exaggerating about cleaning up well. The cut of his black suit was expert, obviously tailor-made; Dom put his money on Suki putting in the majority of the work. The indistinct light blue shirt was a nice touch when coupled with the silver blended into the wool fabric of the suit. Plus, the watch which was a piece worth at least ten Gs on a low-ball estimate on his wrist tightened up the overall look, allowing him to accomplish his goal of looking certainly grown and Dom would leave the deliberation of Rome’s sexiness for appropriate judges. The only question remaining: why and how the hell did Brian own a piece of hardware like that and still struggle to get by?

When Dom reached Tej, the broad sweep of Rome’s birthday demands became clear: Tej was outfitted in the same blue shirt minus the suit jacket, instead he had a vest identical to the black-silver blend of Rome’s suit.

Tej began to speak with tempered resignation. “You’re only twenty-one once, so he’ll run wild tonight, probably will act like a fool and get us into something because his mouth has ADHD and can’t be stopped.” Dom lifted one brow that worked to stem the flow of Tej’s dire predictions. “—and I’ll remember everything until it’s my turn.”

“Be nice to your brothers, Tej.”

“Bri’s got nothing to worry about. When it’s my turn, it’s gonna be Rome paying up.”

Dom chuckled as he imagined Rome’s squawking once Tej turned the tables and started making his creative demands. “Until then, you may wanna talk to my sister. Seems she wants to introduce you to her plus one.”

Tej’s large eyes stretched wider. “Yeah, who?” He asked, suddenly very curious.

Dom manually steered Tej over to get a good look at Mia’s plus one. If he’d thought Vince had the market on cartoonish faces, then Tej had him beat by miles with the way he went bug-eyed after pepping Ramsey hanging out at the mouth of the booth with Mia and the double dose of Slap Jack and Orange Julius and their dates.

“Holy shit. Your sister, man, she’s amazing.”

“I know.” Dom smiled wide. “Just play it cool. Ramsey seems…like a chick who can keep up , just keep it together man.”

“Man, the only way I can play it cool right now is if you dumped me in a pool of ice.”

“You want me to?”

The implication that Dom would sobered Tej up and had him squaring his shoulders and loosening up his posture before gearing up to finally break the ice with the girl he’d been crushing on for the better part of a year. “Naw, I’m good.” Tej nodded more to himself. “Just try to take your own advice.” Then he left Dom with the only O’Conner brother who knew how to put a smile on his face without trying.

Brian was half-way between him and a long table covered in chilled buckets of domestics, imports, and tall bottles with gold labels. He was caught between the moody tunnels of blue neon that filtered and bathed the top floor, unlike the second floor that was a raging bull’s fuel—all coated in shades of red haze and evoking heat while the air remained defiantly cool. Leaving the dance floor as a cool lavender that reflected off the cascading flow of water and jellyfish projected on the walls. Creating an atmosphere that was antithetical to the name of the club.

Dom joined him in the space between the light and the dark. He accepted one of the Coronas Brian had in hand and let his fingers linger over Brian’s.

They were stuck in the silent muck of mutual appreciation where the usual stream of bullshit couldn’t be mustered.

“I should be embarrassed that I let my sisters dress me but I’m really not.” Brian might have lacked Rome’s natural tendency to demand attention in the spectacular sense, though Dom’s attention could fold down to bended knee and be his without prompting from the way he looked tonight.

Then it clicked as Dom took Brian in from head to toe. Suki’s deliberate choice of blue was the same indescribable shade as Brian’s eyes. Back lit by the pockets of blue light around them, they glowed preternaturally bright: so fucking glittering and hypnotic.

The difference between the fit of his shirt and Brian’s was that Dom’s tried to conform to his muscles while Brian’s was intentionally snug to offer little give like a second skin and was buttoned up almost to the peak of his throat; even his hair was styled to an intentional curly unruliness, gleaming like gold in the light.

“Then I need you to make room for me to sit with you in Embarrassment Station, cuz Mia told me wasn’t letting me out the house if I attempted to dress himself.”

Brian gave his sleeve a small tug. “It’s nice to see you with sleeves for once. Makes the party seem like something extra special.” He smiled broadly, his head taking a self-deprecating bend. “I’m not sure I’m loving this tough love approach though.”

Dom seconded the notion by tipping his bottle towards Brian. “Got that right.” He positioned himself to stand beside Brian which now put the rest of the party and the edges of the dance floor and red glow of the second floor just beyond the spaces between the railings in his path. “So you think this night is worth all the extra shifts and all over town hustling?”

Without looking away from the jovial mingling of their two worlds, Brian answered confidently, “Yes, absolutely, Dom.” And he truly meant it.

Even if the club was unfamiliar to Dom, the atmosphere made the joint fall into a black sea of wild nights where adrenaline thrummed through his veins like cars through the arteries of L.A.. All nights that he remembered as good but lacking in details, after having been drowned out by too much beer and the warm wet kisses of girls that only reminded him of Letty in the vaguest sense and mounds of guilt the morning after in the face of his Pop’s disappointment. “Rome talks a mile a minute most days of the week; now he’ll have something awesome to fill up the space.”

Again, Brian rewarded him with a little grin that spoke volumes of truth and Dom couldn't stop watching him because he looked expensive as hell and magazine ready. It felt weird trying to scramble for a compliment. He didn’t want to be wholly uncreative by saying something like _you look good or you’re hot_. Heaven forbid, something like _you’re freakin’ beautiful_ , even if he’d already called Brian as much before. No, Dom wanted to be honest without the veneer of corniness that sometimes came with absolute truth. Because Brian looking good was a fact; Brian looking _this good_ which caused Dom to struggle not to react was next to madness.

Finally, he thought of something that offered a happy medium. “That crew of yours might keep you under lock and key if this is how you look when you wear clothes that fit right.”

Brian rolled his eyes as he sipped his beer. “You’re one to talk. If you think too hard, Dom, I think your shirt will rip Incredible Hulk style,maybe. That’ll be against the dress code here.”

Dom knocked his shoulder into Brian’s. “Yeah, yeah, mine might fit tight, alright, but yours looks painted on, so don’t sweat too much. Cuz I’m not too sure how much a public indecency charge runs.”

They fell into an easy round of laughter until the gradual flow of foot traffic of the group led to another round of greetings and brief conversations that didn’t require either to move far from the other. Between making promises to dance with Mia and surprisingly, Letty, who stalked up to them and swung her dark eyes from him to Brian with the precision of a scythe.

Once toe to toe with Brian, she'd said, “You and me—sometime tonight, we gotta have a moment.” She gave Brian a slow considering assessment before cutting her gaze to Dom, the question in her arched brows questioning _what you gonna do about it_. “I’ve seen how you drive which is cool by me. As for the rest, I need to see if it’s all solid or more hype. So you better save some time for me.”

Since apparently Brian had as much self-preservation instinct as God gave the average squirrel, Brian turned the spotlight of his grin on Letty and replied, “I’m yours whenever you want me.”

Letty didn’t follow up with one of her sneak attack punches, just nodded once and slunk off donning a Cheshire cat grin.

“How many of these have you had?” Dom pointed at Brian’s steadily draining Corona.

“This is the first, why?”

“Cuz you’re putting up the type of courage that usually comes after one too many to know better.”

“Letty’s just looking to talk or so she said. You worried ‘bout me, Dom?” He teased with a smirk. But the truth was exactly that: Dom was worried about Brian.

Yeah, he was worried. Absolutely. The same way one would worry about the dude who stuck his head inside a lion’s mouth, only to say that it was cozy. But Brian’s giving him that look again, so Dom just bumped him again, realizing that only Brian would take a genuine show of concern as a flirtatious gesture.

“Obvious answer: yes. Other answer is that if she takes you out, then all of this,” he gestured to himself, “—is gonna start a riot. A fire sale. All out madness is gonna break out without you around as a buffer. My poor virtue…” Dom sighed, turning up the volume on the drama.

Brian didn’t say anything initially, though the juddering of his shoulders said enough as he started to sway with laughter. Dom didn’t try to throw him off balance again, instead he rolled with the mess of his own making. “Alright. I hear ya. So I’ll make sure I watch your back, so that you don’t get overwhelmed by this sea of desperately deprived.”

“Thank you.”

Brian got in a few cracks while watching Tej attempt to chat with Ramsey like newborn colt taking to its feet: just unsteady and clumsy to a fault.

“What did I tell you?” Rome popped up between them, working his way between them. “Me and my bruhs come in here lookin’ clean and fine like the second coming of Jodeci or Destiny’s Child.” Rome took the remainder of Brian’s beer for himself, earning a small look of disapproval from his brother and an amused smirk from Dom.

“You know both of those groups broke up?” Brian pointed out. "I'm not sure you want to use that as your standard."

“Hey, it’s my party and I get to be Beyoncé if I wanna be. So hush it before you get replaced.” Brian gave him a playful shove that had the pair cracking up. “This is why I’m thinking we should call ourselves BBB.”

Indulging Rome meant being ready for more shenanigans. “Why BBB?” Dom would shoulder the responsibility of whatever foolishness came next.

“Cuz I’m _bangin_ ’, Tej is _brainy_ , and he’s _blond_ , making us BBB.” Rome spread his palms beautifully. “Genius.” He congratulated himself, then he snagged the rest of Brian’s beer for himself. Just a few swallows left and set the empty aside and began pushing his brother towards the mouth of the booth. “Since the night is turning up, I’m gonna borrow my bruh for a bit. You can join us if you can catch the rhythm, but we got promises to keep to some fine ladies and I intend to help them help me to have a good time.” Rome had moved behind Brian to steer him along. As he went, he did a shoulder shimmy and toe tap maneuver that would’ve looked perfectly at home in a conga line.

The ladies in question being Mia who snagged Rome and Letty who was on Brian like a hawk and pair of other hot bodies that had drifted into the party apparently started to descend the long staircase. Brian looked back at him mouthing what might have been _rescue or barbeque_ ; between the noise and the oscillating lights, Dom couldn’t decipher the word clearly which left him up top to gaze down at the group as they sank into the waves of rolling bodies drunk on the clip of the electric snare until the drop kicked up the tempo and made people lose their shit.

Vince joined him at the rail. He offered Dom an unfamiliar bottle. Dom started to decline with a shake but Vince pressed the bottle forward, “Naw, you’ll thank me after you try it.”

Being a risk taker was one thing that Dom would cop to without prompting, but casual blasphemy wasn’t his thing. Call his hesitation due to years of catechism lessons with hard-boiled nuns who apparently hadn't gotten the memo about corporal punishment and went H.A.M. when spunky little anklebiters like him got a little too free at the mouth. So wanting to declare Vince’s claim as sacrilege was a force of habit; plus Corona was his mainstay now and forever, and like his religion and his skill behind a wheel, it wasn’t likely that he would be changing anytime soon.

“Maybe later.”

Vince held out the bottle persistently until Dom relented. “Don’t sleep on this. Hate to say it but this actually puts Corona to shame.” Vince hunkered down over the rail with his eyes taking a slow scrawl over the crowd until they lighted on the ones they knew. He pointed to their group in a small pocket north of three o’clock.

The bottle sandwiched between Vince’s hands had a metallic sheen that ricocheted fingers of light with each sweep of the houselights. It was surprisingly pretty; a fact that made the bottle seem misplaced in Vince’s hands, but the shiny wide mouth and disappearing height inside the bottle reinforced that looks were truly deceptive.

The raspy discharge of Vince’s laughter might’ve been initiated by the beer but it rolled longer than tipsiness allowed. Instead of his usual broad swinging sarcasm, there was only genuine amusement when Vince started talking. “Every time you can’t amp up the crazy enough, you do something like _this_.” Vince raised his bottled to toast Dom.” Gotta say, that that’s one helluva talent you got there, Brother. Like super balls to the max.”

“What did I supposedly do now?” Because life taught him that owning up to shit without knowing exactly what it was was never the smart option.

“That--” Vince pointed with his bottle down at the floor. “—you letting your _ex thing_ and your _new thang_ hang out and get close. I don’t know if you’re stupid or the bravest sonuvabitch I eva met.” He tossed a genuine smile at Dom that highlighted how smooth and handsome the Old Coyote could be with little effort applied. “All I know is that I’m staying up here and watching all-a that from where I am.”

“You scared, V? I think you might be missing out if you’re hiding out in isolation station by yourself.”

“One, I’m scared of three things and that down there ain’t of ‘em.” Four if he was honest and added Baby Girl G to the list. “Two, I never said I’d be up here by myself, and three, I don’t see you making tracks to join the conga line.”

All good points, but, sure as the sun had to rise, Dom needed to give his best friend a little shit to keep them grounded. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on the wild and crazy kids, so I elect myself.”

The entire floor of writhing bodies intertwined with the club’s modern art installations unfolded completely from their perch at the rail. From here, they had the whole club to surveil and, with a half-list of the head in either direction, much of the action on the upper floors as well. Dom flicked Vince’s elbow and pointed to the five o’clock corner from their spot where they could peep Leon trying to keep up with Sophie as she melted into the echoing synth.

For a few seconds, Vince was content to watch the muted play of interactions between their other best friend and one of Brian’s. “I think he’s already gone on her. I know Lee can move fast when he wants but, _damn_ , that’s all excessive.” It was fascinating to watch Leon work his magic, because quiet and unassuming Leon with his infinite well of shockingly deep shit to say was like a savant who could charm women, friends, and foes like a piper with a flute.

Dom chuckled. “It’s like watching Wild Kingdom.” But twice as exciting. Case in point: Sophie flipped the script by swimming in close with her eyes locked on Leon, laughing, and firing back the same charm and easy sass that dared him to put his arm around her.

Vince took a third of the bottle to the head. “Yeah, but more exciting when it goes bloody.” A fact that they both agreed on. He saluted with his bottle when Leon caught them watching. Leon gave them a brief thumb’s up without breaking eye contact with Sophie.

“As long as whatever’s gettin’ started over there doesn’t end in stitches, then I think we’ll be good.” Dom remembered how Leon’s last fling with a pint-sized powerhouse from El Salvador ended up with him getting six stitches in one arm and an icepack on his nuts for nearly a week.

Vince capped off the rest of the bottle. “You and me both, Brother,” he said.

Very little in either of their world could be classified as too fast. Granted, none of them tended to fall into the trap at the same time, the small wrinkle of concern that furrowed Vince’s brows would transition from fleeting to a permanent expression if Leon actually started to fall just as hard and fast as Dom had.

Needing to clear the air of the former spirits of Bad Relationships Past, Dom offered his take on the situation. “Naw, Soph’s like us: she doesn’t do slow, so Leon might have found one of the few chicks around who can keep up while still being totally mellow yellow like him.” A little blessing if Vince heard him correctly, now that Leon and Sophie were making their way across the dance floor.

Vince raised his bottle to toast the swarming masses below. “Gotta thank the Car Gods for small favors.” Dom joined him in saluting the floor. “Unless some chica decides to really make it worth my while, I’m not gonna go bump bodies with randos down there. But Imma head over there—” he pointed at the loosely packed corner where a pool table was being lit by a wide arch of aqua light, “and see if I can take the table and maybe some of that sweet audience, too.”

After food, Vince possessed an equally voracious love for pretty girls and cars. The wolfish grin grew across Vince’s face as his eyes pinged from the various clusters of beautiful. Dom knew how this situation would normally play out: him and Vince—more Vince—picking off the competition around the table until it was just them as the centers of attention of the fine assembly of female company.

Well, that was how it _would’ve gone_ but Dom was missing the familiar presence of the hungry edge that egged on his competitive streak. He hadn’t had enough to drink to start down the path to being introspective and the music was too loud to replay Letty’s words.

It hit him like a shot, only lacking physical force behind the realization: he was satisfied. _Well damn._

“I’ll be your wingman. Just try not to scare ‘em off with your stunning personality.” Because Vince didn’t have the charm like him and Leon, but he did have the muscle, the looks, and a good eye.

Vince threw his arm over Dom’s shoulder and made a big show of laying a resounding kiss on Dom’s dome. Dom pulled a face as Vince began to whoop, steering them over to the table, a litany of boastful promises freshly spewing because they were gearing up to fall back into old habits.

“Don’t worry about me, Dom. I’m Mr. Congeniality for a reason.” He said as a rare all points grin blasted through his many layers of surliness. “All the ladies love me. And if you wanna be a good bro and contribute to my quest of spreading my love,” he said with uncoordinated eyebrow waggle, “you’ll tell the real cute ones that might be shifting your way that you’re really feeling your Blond Boy Bae and send ‘em rightfully my way to console their crushed dreams.”

Dom figured he'd stick to their usual roles; he'd do his best to make plans that benefited Vince and allowed himself to say as little as possible. “Let’s see if you can run the table first, Romeo, then I’ll see what I can do about the rest. Don’t expect any miracles.”

Vince smirked as a pair of long legs in a short, short skirt made his eyes get big. “Dom, you know I’m cool with Faith, Hope, Harmony, Diamond, Crystal, Rose, whoever, as long as they give me the time of day.” Vince kicked up the swagger in his step and untangled himself from Dom then began to stride ahead.

Dom took another look down at the floor. He found his people through the oscillating tunnels of colored light. Mia was spinning in circles around Jesse while Sophie was moving within the inner bands of Rome’s melee of bodies. Leon and Letty were making a go of it dancing on the wide square of day glow backed flooring that shifted colors with the tempo of the track spinning. He found Brian with Tej and Ramsey. Satisfied that the party was rolling smoothly, Dom followed after Vince to the pool tables.

As the night ran on, Rome got to do a shout-out to himself on the house mic where he essentially invited the whole club to the sky suites for the reveal of his cake. Which was how the suite became packed ass to elbows with strangers, though Dom didn’t mind being pressed up against Brian’s back or sniffing at the beads of sweat at the nape of his neck; he only minded the glare from the twenty-one sparklers that were placed on the four-tier cake that was a large mountain of purple and white frosting, topped by a statuette of regally outfitted mini-Rome.

After they got the birthday song remix blasted across the speakers, Rome blew out his sparkler candles, after recruiting Brian and Tej for help, and proceeded to hug it out with his bros until he had to fight off his sudden attack of _allergies_.

He wiped furiously at his face. “I got allergies. Like, all of ‘em! All up in my eyes, nose, and my throat.” Rome yelled as he hugged it out with his brothers and made himself the emotional center of a bro sandwich. “Don’t y’all dust this joint? It’s my birthday and y’all are tryna kill me!” Later, Rome and Vince would share a mutual communion over the cake where visions of sugar comas danced in their eyes.

Dom avoided the hungry eyes turned his way. He gravitated towards Leon who seemed be locked in a state of deep contemplation as he reflected on the choices at the private bar.

Dom asked, “Too many choices?” Leon nodded once, then Dom directed him over to Vince’s surprisingly good choice. “V picked this one and it wasn’t bad.”

“Okay, if you’re vouching for Vince’s taste then I’ll man up and try it.” They both knew that Vince’s tastes and appetite were at times suspect, so Leon’s healthy dose of caution in the face of his usual courage was a self-preservation tactic. “Not bad,” he replied after a small test swallow.

Content after taking a tentative sip, Leon dipped his head a couple of times, bobbing along to the music and tapping the bottle’s face to agree with Dom’s suggestion. “Yo, you missed the big showdown downstairs. Rome’s buddies challenged him and Brian to a dance off.” Leon leaned towards Dom bearing a huge smile and starry eyes that were induced by alcohol and the close press of too many bodies. “That shit was phenomenal. Like, I remember a little bit of Brian’s act at the club, but the dude can, like, _dance_! I mean, be in a music video or a TV competition of something. Really, both of them could. Rome and Brian made Julius and Jack look like chumps. It was amazin’.”

“The other two work at the club, also.” Dom added which caused Leon’s eyes to grow larger and his mouth to round in a shocked _o_.

“No shit. What about the big dude? Hobbs?” Leon gestured with his chin. Dom followed his vector to spy Brian and Hobbs talking, close because the suite was packed. Too close because Dom knew the history there.

Dom cut Hobbs a brief glance. “A family friend. Neighborhood guy…" then after a beat, "Brian’s ex,” he tacked on at the end. That particular title still bothering him to think about, though it was something important to think about. So he'd dropped in that final nugget of info to see what hidden pearl of wisdom Leon decided to offer up in return.

Leon clapped his shoulder, his pointer finger extended beyond clasping the bottle. “Just remember the most important thing about all of that is that Big Boy is an ex _._ Past. Over. Done. Finito. _Es ya._ So they can talk just like you and Let without the expectation of anything else. Remember that.”

He wanted a pearl of advice and Leon hadn’t let him down. It was scary how deep Leon could get without much effort. “It’s crazy how you can always cut through the bullshit. It’s your superpower.”

Leon rocked lazily with the beat. “Naw, I’m just a student of the world, Dom.”

Hearing Leon's account of the impromptu dance battle made Dom regret missing it. Dom and Brian were similar points along the same spectrum when it came to challenges and their inability to let them pass. The only difference in how they embraced those challenges was that Dom only did so with cars; Brian dove into challenges with every inch of his body, and this time, he won. “Yeah, he’s somethin’ else,” Continued Dom who then opted to snag another bottle of something he couldn’t pronounce. “Tonight’s for attention and bad decisions.” Leon offered him a knowing smirk and Dom rolled on. “Everything on the table can help with the back half.”

Since he was Mr. Adventurous, Leon made a little show of supporting the idea. “Yeah, man, way too many options to bring about good and bad decisions. I’m tryin’ to not break the seal too soon, but, um, it’s hard when I just wanna live a little and try everything. Cuz this is executive level compared to what we’re used to.”

Both of them had just pulled down a quarter of their beers apiece and were still tossing around observations and more trash talk when the hot hostess in the bandage dress who might have inspired Vince to try his hand at poetry returned, leading a couple of sparkly dressed cocktail waitresses with trays heavy with champagne flutes into the suite. “Complements of the house,” she said, extending a glass to Dom then Leon.

Champagne wasn’t his thing, so he eyed the glass at first but drank after Rome’s whooping declaration of “When in Rome--” who then took the entire flute to the head like water in a Dixie cup. The first thing Dom could taste was the orange juice and the second was underneath, crawling over his tongue in a current of sticky and bitter. He cut a look at Leon whose eyelids had dropped in proportion to the creeping smile on his face.

Dom licked at his lips, chasing the flavor of orange juice and _something_ \--something that got his tongue feeling too thick. “What’s this?” His lips tingled.

Leon leaned in close to make himself audible over the melee of music and too many strange voices. “Something that’ll make you glad you ain’t on papers no more. This woulda made your test pop positive and really hot.”

A hot test would’ve gotten him an express ticket back to Lompoc. Don’t pass go. No two hundred dollars. Just the rest of the five he was handed and had lucked out on serving.

His flute was halfway gone, though Dom eyed it considerably; it would be a one-time thing. So following Leon’s lead, he finished off the glass and planned to make room for any new regrets in the same places as the old ones.

Within minutes, the club’s colors shifted and echoed over his hands, vibrating along a string as sonic waves rippled over his skin, and Dom turned his hands over as the beat stirred, built itself up, and crashed down into a wave of rhythmic sound.

There was a reason Dom had never gotten adventurous in this arena like Leon. After a couple of tries, he learned that he was one of one those rare people that didn’t get mellow on the downers or up on the uppers; just went straight into a haze of red and the heat of barely restrained aggro, losing everyone around him to the sudden fade out.

Blinking now because the houselights had shifted to bathe every floor in the same wash of fairy dust blue-purple, Dom focused on finding Brian. The singer’s eerie moan echoing in a [reverberating coo ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SYM-RJwSGQ8)across the air while he searched for Brian, finally spying him wrapping up his chat with Hobbs who was suddenly painted in colors of red and faded gold as Brian gave him one last grin that glowed white and infinite like a diamond and slid past him into the crush of bodies with Dom following loosely behind him as if connected by a tether of silver, white and blue that trailed through the air behind him like a cape.

All other sounds blanked out save for the singer’s electric cooing as he descended the stairs at Brian’s back; the thrum of the base syncopating with the gaps in his heartbeat as Dom fell into the crush of bodies. The lights flashing in shades of electric color like Tron in real life motion.

Despite his size, he moved through the throng without rearranging himself, slipping in and out like a shark through the waves until he found Brian parked beneath the revolving electric halo, spinning arches of blue and purple across the floor and the walls. Brian swayed into the melody with the ease of electricity in his veins and let his body be carried by the synthetic current. Drawn by the halo of colors he was casting with each movement, Dom drew closer, caught in the spell like an insect to the buzzing glow.

Bodies grew closer, trying to suffocate the offending spaces while the beat twined them together, so that Dom was now pressed against Brian’s back. That too-tight shirt feeling paper-thin against his own as Brian pressed into him, trusting without seeing him. As the colors build into a swirling mass amorphous and giant like a distant galactic body, his vision telescoped on the magnetic cyclone created with Brian’s every move, he closed his arms around Brian’s hips and falling head first into the beat drop.

The crazy cross-talk of his senses was the only clear thing in this dayglow world, allowing him to taste the slope of Brian’s neck, see the electricity humming in their veins when their skin brushed, hear the sweat wick off Brian’s skin as he moved with the current, touch the whisper of his name on Brian’s breath as he exhaled dragon fire, and smell his own desire thick in the air with each twist of Brian against him.

They were caught back to front in a smooth glide.

Neither fast nor slow.

Just together with the tide.

Feeling righter than two halves making a whole.

Riding in tandem like only they could.

So close that the answer to the first question was not two: just one and one together making one. They breathed in the world of fickle blue light and the club’s magic, coasting on the melodic drag of the electronic reverb.

When the light burst up to red, Dom felt them then: the weight of eyes on him, burning hot like soldering irons and too heavy to bear, so he disengaged. Just let go of Brian and started moving through the waves of bodies before Brian could turn, losing sight of him as dancing bodies filled in the void.

Light flashed in his eyes like mini-eclipses as he climbed up top again to the relative peace of the private suites and stalked by more entranced patrons to end up in the red on black hallways leading to the bathrooms.

It was quiet, empty even, still echoing eerily with the blurred whine of the music. Feeling too hot, Dom splashed his face once, twice, and almost dropped his head into the sink until his vision dialed itself back down to the correct settings but was still fuzzy at the edges.

Dom didn’t crash but he had his shit better together, in a manner of speaking, when he walked out of the bathroom. Still feeling too hot and his mouth dry like gunked over oil rags, he made his way back to the suite and to his surprise found Brian reclining on his elbows over the long body of the leather lounger. He’d been gone much longer than he intended.

He didn’t exercise much grace when he dropped down beside Brian whose attention was split between Dom’s arrival and the familiar object in his hand. “I hadn’t expected you to be back up here so soon. Definitely didn’t see the twist with you playing Prince Charming to someone’s Cinderella.” Dom wondered how this object had come into Brian's possession.

Brian rotated one of Letty’s lethally sharp black heels by the lip of the open toe. “I thought I’d try to get into Letty’s good graces somehow.” There was too much black in his eyes and his voice was slow  like a low tide drawl, making Dom wonder how much of Brian trying to get into Letty's good graces had been his decision or the house special's.

The shoe really did have a dangerous edge to it. “How’s that working out so far?” Dom doubted being shoeless had stopped Letty from doing her thing on the dance floor.

Brian tried to pass the shoe over. Dom waved off his attempt, forcing him to keep his charge and any possibility of Letty getting pissed to himself. “Well, I think she gave me a compliment or kinda, at least.”

“What’d she say?”

Without breaking his rumination on the shoe, Brian started by licking his lips, saying, “Apparently, I’m an upgrade. So congrats for that. And that your type outside of her tends to be… _skanks_ , so yeah? I’m thinking I’m doing pretty good with her. Then she told me to keep my eye out for you, Mr. The World’s Gonna Melt When It Sees Me In This Shirt.” Brian mimicked Letty’s sharp sarcasm with frightening accuracy.

New note to self: never let those two talk again. Letty and Giselle was a bad idea. Letty and Brian was far worse than that; it was the Jupiter of bad ideas.

Once more, Brian rotated the shoe by it's stiletto heel. “I admire her for trying to get through the night with these. These will kill your feet. Made me get a new level of respect for the women in my life.”

The conspiratorial look Dom tossed Brian’s way was deliberate. Because he couldn’t make statements like that without any follow up. “You’ve got first-hand experience with a pair of those?”

Grinning vaguely with too much teeth, Brian drawled, “Yeah and I learned never to bet against my sisters.” But Brian evaded further attempts to get the 411 on his previous close encounter with high, thin heels. “I’m still waiting to get a full peek at your moves, Dom. Ready to give you all my attention, so what are ya waiting for?”

“All that’s not really my thing.” Dom gestured vaguely to packed floor full of writhing bodies colored by strobe lights.

Brian had started an automatic nod when his head tilted just so until he shifted his eyes back to Dom, already narrowing curiously and taking on a familiar sharpness. “Can you?” He stopped on a dime and assessed Dom sharply, then looked around like they were about to share state secrets. “You can, right? My mind’s not messin’ with me right now, cuz I’m startin’ to think that you--”

“What?”

“Can you dance, Dom?” Brian asked, gently, as if he was afraid that he would spook Dom by asking. Sitting up straighter facing such a big revelation.

Dom considered his answer and how he didn’t want Brian getting any ideas about Dom’s supreme wealth of skills. “I can do many things.” Brian cocked a brow at Dom’s non-answer. “Yeah, I can dance. This,” he mimed the house selection, “—don’t require much skill,” earning a barking laugh from Brian. “But I know enough.” Enough equaling a passable salsa and bachata that wouldn’t shame his many times saintly Mami, Abuela, and Nonna. He’d never pay the bills with those skills, not like Brian, which was just cool by him; though he could proudly proclaim that possessing rhythm, just like his nearly superhuman hand-eye coordination, was just a part of his—and Mia’s—genes.

He was preparing to say just as much when Mia waved to them from the top of the suite. The sluggishness in his limbs burned away by the look on Mia’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Dom attempted to yell over the music.

Mia grabbed Brian’s arm and bodily oriented him towards the direction of the pool tables. “I think Rome’s in trouble!” She yelled at him. “—was coming up the stairs when I saw people heading towards the tables and at least one guy in Rome’s face.”

The last part of her observation was clear enough for both of them to hear, so Brian pushed Letty’s shoes towards Mia who looked confusedly from the pointy black heels to Brian then to Dom, eyes demanding an explanation later. Then Brian was moving with Dom and Mia coming up close behind him.

Rome stood facing the tip of a human arrow formation, comprised of three dudes who looked like they actively tried out for parts on TV cop procedurals for spots as _generic hip-hop star_ , _rowdy entourage member_ and _Eminem wanna-be_. Whatever was being said between the Number One and Rome had led to neither backing down, which was expected from Rome. The unexpected thing was seeing Vince standing behind Rome with eyes dark and narrowed, face tight and body coiled like a wolf bristling before attack. It had been a good while since Vince had a scrape with anyone, and maybe bonding over being a part of the Brotherhood of Bottomless Bellies had given him extra reason to back Rome up.

Of course, Brian jumped between Team Brotherhood and Gangstas for Hire like a dumbass lion tamer in a damn circus. As soon as he was between them, he was trying to hold off both sides who looked more pissed that he was interfering.

“Whoa, Rome, what the hell is going on?” Brian forced his palm into Rome’s chest to hold him back, though Rome churned against him.

“Stay outta this, Bri.” Rome spat with fire in his tone. “Imma handle this.”

“Yeah,” parroted Entourage Dude from behind the Ringleader. “—stay outta this, Malibu Ken.”

“Don’t do this.” Brian snapped back, angry as hell because he liked playing with fire just for shits and giggles. “And you, stop stirring shit.” He popped back at Entourage Dude.

The insult really pissed Rome off who was gearing up to get in the Ringleader’s face again while Vince was also inching up beside him.

Brian redoubled his effort to hold his brother back while Dom moved in to keep the trio occupied if they decided to make a move. Ringleader and Eminem’s Double were right to turn down their glares when they looked at him and instead opted to amp up the glares towards the brothers and Vince.

Brian forced Rome to meet his eyes. “Talk to me, Rome. Cuz we’re not about to get froggy over some bullshit.”

Rome tried to shake him off, rearing like a bull to stampede. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong: Slick Rick over here wanted to play pool, so I was game. We anted up and everything, but after I won, he didn’t want to pay me.”

Now Ringleader popped up and Dom stepped closer, making him move back. “Naw, we played and he cheated like a lil bitch. I took the watch cuz I’m not gonna be played like a chump.” He held up the watch that had been on Rome’s wrist the whole night. The same watch that Dom had heard Brian almost make Rome sign over his soul to borrow for the night.

Brian turned a glare so icy on Rome that both Vince and Dom flinched under it. So cold, it was scorching. Telepathy wasn’t needed to communicate the reaming that Brian was giving Rome for losing that glittering nest egg.

Stubbornly, Rome backed off to let Brian take point on the situation. “My bro’s had a little too much to drink on his birthday,” Brian started with that too friendly grin. “He shouldn’t have played you for stakes.”

Feeling like his ego was being appropriately massaged, Ringleader agreed with a series of bobbing nods. “Right, right, as long as we got that straight between you and _ya brutha_.” The last bit he sneered.

That fucking grin grew even larger. “Yeah, we do and he’ll learn his lesson. But I’m still gonna need that watch back.”

“The fuck you will?!” Eminem’s Double snorted.

“I can guarantee that I will.” Brian remained chill like he wasn’t tossing gasoline on a fire just to watch it grow. “So how you wanna do this?”

Ringleader sized Brian up, dismissing him almost immediately and laughing. “Don’t matter how we do this. You ain’t getting shit back and I’ll kick your ass, his ass--”pointing to Rome, “—and anyone else you got.”

“Okay,” Brian answered, still completely unfazed. “So, outside then? I kinda wanna get my deposit back and something tells me that we’re not gonna get too far with verbal conflict resolution.”

Perhaps Dom’s jaw dropped at Brian’s bid to throw down; he saw that Vince’s had, even though Vince had clearly decided to fight should the situation arise, he hadn’t expected Brian to so nonchalantly drift in that direction.

Brian was impulsive, a fact that Dom met head on from the beginning of their association; at times, as familiarly reckless as Dom had been prior to institutional correction. Then, there were moments like this where Brian almost taunted danger with a fixed smile and dared it come at him with a sparkle in his eyes, happily making himself into the red flag for the bull.

Flashback to the cliff and Brian skirting the edge—Dom’s heart dropped in worry.

Ringleader’s eyes might have slid over to Dom, trying to figure out if the dude he was getting ready to fight was actually mentally sound and not either clueless or completely batshit as signs were pointing to.

No clear answer except backup.

Cut to Club Fury’s parking lot that was too crowded with rides to accommodate the sudden swell of spectators. Brian had brushed Dom off when he went to back him up, instead saying, “I’ve got this, Dom.” Brian said patting his chest, eyes feverishly bright but far more blue than earlier. “I know you’ve got my back if it goes sideways.”

Dom had Brian from all angles should the Imposter Boys try anything stupid.

Around him, the rest of their group had reassembled, Hobbs included, who didn’t look impressed by Dom standing as part of the circle and not within the fight circle. It grated him to possibly agree with Hobbs but he respected Brian’s wishes more, so he’d have his back just in case.

Mia and Letty were on his right while the guys were on his left. “Dom--” Mia started with worry thick in her voice.

“I know.” He said. “Brian said he’s got this, so I’ll let him do what he needs to do.”

A handful of models in the making that Rome hadn’t managed to charm were holding down the corner for the Imposter Squad, holding mostly baseball caps, jackets, the cash owed to Rome and, most importantly, the watch.

The feeling that Dom was out of his time came over him again as he took in the number of phones turned towards the circle, already primed to record the action. Nothing stayed local anymore because of technology. Murmurs of "World Star..." floated in the air. Local ripples didn’t stay small for long now that they could be memorialized on the internet. Not only for this reason, but most of all out of genuine concern, Dom hoped Brian had something to put up other than mountain’s worth of crazy as his defense. If he fought like he drove, then Dom could worry just a half ounce less while still staring at the rest of the mountain with bated breath.

No one’s really taking issue with the three on two setup.

Dom was surprised that Brian had a t-shirt on under that second skin tight shirt. Of course Brian had on a t-shirt, which he should have expected.

“Last man standing gets all the stakes.” Brian offered. The Imposter Squad agreed, leaving the five squaring off with Rome versus the Entourage Dude and Brian versus the Ringleader and Eminem’s Understudy.

Expecting the unexpected from Brian should become Dom’s default setting.

Rome fought with the energy of a hurricane: absolutely wild and intent on doing maximum destruction without finding a specific target.

Brian, though? If Dom’s fight record were analyzed then he’d be labelled a brawler, well-versed in the art of street fighting and backed by tremendous power. Whereas Brian moved like oil—all choreography and fast with economic finesse that came from an inexhaustible creativity.

Rome, still in most of his too-fine suit, had his guy down in the gravel of the lot, locked up in a nasty arm bar; while Brian had rabbit-punched Eminem’s Backup in the kidneys and turned that forward progress into a face first meeting with the ground.

Ringleader got the worst of the treatment. Brian misjudged precision on an early back punch and ended up receiving a direct shot to the mouth. Stunned but not out, he regrouped to use his speed to dart in and lock up the Ringleader’s arms, then worked his knees into the body, finally applying that crazy leg strength that got him swinging around the pole like a hula hoop until Ringleader dropped into a heap with Brian on top, laying hands on him like he had ten separate lessons to give.

Brian smiled through the bloody lip as he unfolded himself from over Ringleader.

Rome grabbed Brian’s arm, raising it high to give him the world champ treatment and possibly earning a small sliver of Brian’s good graces back. The latter accomplished when Brian pulled Rome into a deep hug and delivered brotherly promises of future retribution with clear intent despite the noise of the crowd newly drunk on live action.

The last unexpected twist came via Letty who entered the rapidly filling circle to meet up with Brian and Rome. After critiques—definitely—and congratulations were shared, she headed over the clutch of girls left holding the watch and the rest of the promised stash. Working her personality to its full potential, Letty didn’t wait long to receive what was owned. The would-be models knowing better than to risk their futures by testing the threat of Letty’s right or left hook.

Once she made her delivery, she returned to Dom and Mia and cut them a signature look. “I couldn’t let him do all the work.” Letty took back her shoes from Mia as she said this, proving once again that she was far braver than Dom could put into words. “Also, I may need him to teach me that kangaroo punch move he did towards the end.”

Mia’s eyes swung from Letty to Dom; each knowing the other would be going to her for their modified version of confession.

“I guess that’s fair,” Dom offered as he watched Brian attempt to maneuver back into that shirt. He had plenty of attention now, mostly from their own, as the makeshift ring completely disintegrated.

As soon as he flashed Dom a semi-bloody grin, Leon's voice kicked up loud and clear, calling out, “Cops!”

A string of texts later and the four hours after the official passing of Rome’s birthday, Dom sat on the Mazda’s hood poaching fries out of Brian’s medium pack outside of Fat Burger. All paid courtesy of the cash Letty lifted from the Imposter Boys’ cheering section. He was just to the left of Hangover Station but not by much. Grease and sleep were the only cures for this problem.

As Dom looked around their enclave in the parking lot, Dom felt his lips curl at the corners without much effort. Rome and Vince were vibing over the fight and tallying the final count of phone numbers they’d gotten. Vince claiming victory after scoring the hostess—Rosa’s number. Jess playing ref to their extra-large burger eating contest on the fly might have been the final piece to solidify this growing friendship. Mia and Letty chilled by the Acura with a couple of shakes and were being entertained by the hilariously developing Tej and Ramsey story. The poor dude had no game. At all. Leon and Sophie interrupting their low pitched conversation with loud bursts of laughter and near choking as they watched and ran their own commentary.

Overall, it had been a good night.

Brian rubbed his sweaty soda cup over his lip while Dom stole another one of his fries. “Now I just gotta know: do you practice MMA between your dance routines? Really, I'm curious, or did you learn that stuff in juvie.”

Brian shrugged, cryptically. “It’s just some stuff I picked up.”

“I see how you operate now, O’Conner. What kinda dude tries to pass his baby sisters off as the threat when the real trouble in the making is standing right here?”

Brian took his remaining fries back into his custody. “Dom, I love my sisters. They’re amazing—smart, beautiful, like, ridiculously talented. Me in comparison is like a walk in the park. Those two taught me never to bet against them.” Still deflecting to the max.

“ _Right_.” Dom drawled, disbelieving. “Whateva you say, Rocky.” Dom’s eyes landed on the watch, only to remind him of his previous questions. “You owe me a story about this. Since you’re actually okay with wearing it, I’m guess it’s not from D.O.C.”

Brian nodded. “That’s a story for daylight hours.” Delineating the significance of the wrist wear with a few words. "And we're too close for me to start."

“So, about earlier--”

Brian shook his head, cutting him off before this road of discussion could be traveled. He worked his jaw—first side to side and then in a slow jog up and down until the stiffness eased. “Nothing to say about it, Dom. Some of us--” the _like me_ hovered in the air “—don’t get the good start. But we make up for the slow start—the shitty start in other ways. You’re lucky that you had the good stuff for as long as you did. Sometimes, you learn the hard way that people come back just long enough to hurt you… But me and mine? We’re gonna get right or lucky eventually, cuz the start’s never that important. The only thing that matters is how you finish once you get started.”

Dom needed to prod Brian’s declaration of _me and mine_. Was that a finite descriptor or was it open to expansion.

“Me and mine—you and yours included—will be just fine.”

“I like that you’re so sure.” Brian licked the split in his lip, grinning now twice as broadly as he plucked a few fries from the pouch. “Now help me finish these off before Rome comes sniffing around.”

**

Once the party was officially put to rest, Dom snapped off one last text to Brian for the night.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35652024922/in/dateposted-public/)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is over 100k. It's officially my longest fic to date.


	12. twelve, pt.I (showdown)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon asks for a favor. Dom confronts external and internal conflicts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.
> 
> Title from The Glitch Mob's [Between Two Points](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iaisDkR8Qg).
> 
> A/N 1: Music is very important in this chapter. I’ve embedded links to the songs on YouTube where they appear in the fic. I highly recommend giving these songs a listen when they’re referenced. Eventually, I’ll have a playlist compiled for the story on the series page. 
> 
> Songs of significance in this chapter: Britney Spears: [Showdown](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cjQaZMB4Yl0) & [Touch of My Hand](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=usmmFsZoh4A)  
> Pretty Lights: [One Day They’ll Know (Odesza Mix](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oAncODpky6E))
> 
> A/N 2: This chapter was divided into 2 parts, because there’s a big tonal transition by the end. Updated story tags will appear when I post the next chapter. 
> 
> A/N 3: This chapter was by far the most interesting one to write. Dom’s thoughts ride a rollercoaster of emotion here. Honestly, I thought this chapter was pretty scattered as I wrote it, but after multiple reads, it feels like a fulcrum: many emotions or experiences that have been referenced in earlier chapters reappear here with forthcoming consequences. Frankly, Dom is spinning inside a storm of feelings—some good, others bad or toxic, but he’s so full of emotions while trying to sort himself into the image of who he feels he is and who he is expected to be. All of which is complicated by his attraction to Brian and his inability to compartmentalize him. And, also, Lompoc. Never forget Lompoc. So, be aware that Dom will be messy for a while. 
> 
> A/N 3: Questions about slang I’ve used, please visit urbandictionary. FYI.
> 
> A/N 4: Issues with masculinity abound! There are some superficial exploration of the Masc 4 Masc versus Masc for Femme elements during Dom’s time in the club. 
> 
> A/N 5: If you’ve read my other works, then it’s obvious that I love a good crossover. So if you take a gander at the Just The Motion verse summary, then the inspiration for this verse is listed. 
> 
> A/N 6: So as for the dancing, I motivated by the idea that Brian/ Paul’s proficiency in fighting in canon could probably be extrapolated to equal talent in dancing, too. C’mon, depending on whom you ask, dancing and fighting aren’t that far off and certainly require a ton of coordination and rhythm to execute. Therefore, Brian’s a kickass dancer in this verse. 
> 
> A/N 7: Thank you for your patience and dedication to this story. To everyone who has commented on the story, I appreciate the feedback. Please don’t hesitate to drop some concrit, questions, suggestion, kudos, etc. Every communication is valuable to me. I repeat: this is massive WIP, so I understand being cautious optimism. Any encouragement is appreciated when trying something new.

Every time Dom looked at the old blackboard, he expected the ghost of his Pop to be standing down below, twisting an oily cloth between his hands, gearing up to deliver a trio of words that Dom always hated— “ _And another thing_...”

There was no price he wouldn’t pay to hear his Pop say those words again.

The big chalkboard was a relic from days of service years before his Nonno and Nonna bought the place. It was a piece of history from the days when the statuses of jobs was collected in lines white chalk and black slate.

When Jesse first started hanging around the garage, Dom’s Pop realized that the only thing that would keep Jesse occupied—without setting him up to bounce off the walls—was numbers. Just a small (and smart) observation after the wiry kid with a dirty shock of blond hair and manic energy calculated the number of hours leading to race Sundays with careless effort. After being encouraged to show his work, Dom’s Pop made Jesse put his observations on the board. Race Sundays were largely replaced by texted meet and streets, but Race Wars always had a standing appointment on the calendar, and a countdown for Jesse to keep each year.

Jesse took pride his designing a new countdown for the year. This year’s design allowed him to basically stand back and proudly watch as Dom moved the little colored cars along the outline of days in the shape of a track towards a winner’s circle in the shape of a giant trophy, proclaiming _Race Wars!_ as the final goal. Every year since the start of Race Wars, they did this; now it was a ritual that made the road to Race Wars feel real.

As Dom moved the cardboard model of the Mazda within seven spaces of Race Wars Saturday, ‘he found himself grinning at the thought of a real checkered flag being waved in front his car.

He took another look at the big board, only to be filled with a sense of déjà vu. Because, once upon a time, he had been the one standing on the narrow, tall platform scribbling out the pre-race checklist.

Jesse climbed down the ladder and dusted his hands off, grinning Looney Tune-bright as chalk dust followed him clouding the air as he clapped his hands to shake off the grit.

“Thanks, Jess.” Dom said as they shared a moment reading through the long list on the blackboard.  Three months had flew when the road diverged from straight.  

“I wish you would let me do something to the Gulf Stream.” Jesse lamented. “Yeah, yeah…you said cleanup and fill it up. I’ve got that under control but I could mod it out a little bit, y’know?” He said hopeful in the face of Dom’s persistent no.

“I do know.” Dom answered. Sometimes, a simple job was just a simple job, with no frills and no extras required.

Those possibilities of what the Gulf Stream could become filled Jesse’s eyes like stars. “Man, what I could do with it…”

Dom hated telling the kid no. “I know what you’re capable of, Boy Genius.” Jesse topped himself every year, constantly tweaking their engines to give the kids at Cal Tech a run for their forty thousand dollar educations. The shit Jesse conceived after an internet search, a bottle of Mountain Dew, and a missed dose of Adderall was one of the reasons his team hadn’t taken in any _Ls_ at Race Wars in three years.  

Dom tucked Jesse into his shoulder for a brief hug and scrubbed his knuckles over his messy blond scruff. “You’re our Tasmanian Devil—unleash in case of an emergency, so I don’t want to use up your genius too soon.” Years of practice treading lightly with Jess’s feelings kept Dom from tripping over any of the emotional landmines left behind three strike con daddy.  

Feathers unruffled, Jesse ducked his head sheepishly, his tireless fingers working over the path of Dom’s knuckles and over his face down the messy network holes in his Pokémon t-shirt. “I’ve got a folder on my laptop called: _In Case of Emergency_ , so I’m ready, Dom. We’re going for a four-peat. One word, Dom: Un-stopp-able.”

“Right as always, Jess. Head out, kid, you’ve put in some hard hours.”

Letty and Vince had taken off a while ago, arguing as they went about the road snacks and the post-rally fiesta. It came down to the eternal struggle: pizza vs. burgers.  

Dom waved the kid off as the Jetta pulled off and used the sudden vacuum of noise to stare up at the big board and let his mind wander down a road paved with heavy nostalgia. From the time he was a kid newly capable of making chicken-scratch ABCs until he had enough hairs on his chin to have something more than peach fuzz, he worked the board, jotting down every piece of genius and direction that had poured out of his Pop.

It was his job. A dusty a hell job but his to look forward to every weekend.  

Sometimes, he missed those days when he had chalk dust on his fingers and his Pop standing below, shouting up orders at him. Back then, when he had more hair on his head and less teeth in his mouth, he liked sketching cars in the chalk dust and slapping his hands together to watch them fly. He drew maps in the dust and each clap of his hands made his trips come to life.

“Hey, Dom?”

Dom swerved back into the moment as Leon strolled up beside him. “Yeah?”

“Uh, gotta minute?” Leon asked, looking uncharacteristically cagey in Dom’s eyes.

They were alone now that Jess’s Jetta backed out the drive and was pointed north in the direction of the house. “Sure.” Dom wiped off his hands with a cloth left stranded on the rolling tool chest.

Leon, who was generally Mr. Too Cool for Any Stage of Heat, took a pointed look around and gave the back of his neck a quick scrub before diving headlong into whatever was swirling in his mind. After a big exhale, he dropped, “I need a favor—a big one.”

They—the Team, the family, whatever, did favors for each other all the time. Favors had a way of being their own form of currency when used right. The exchange rate more often than not was fuzzy but often fair. Leon didn’t have to ask him for a favor, because Dom was always down to help, like, nine out of ten times to be exact. Mia had done the math on his reciprocity quotient and everything. The only time he ever backed off was when Leon dared to get a _tad_ too wild for even Dom’s elastic boundaries for adventure.

“Let’s hear it,” Dom said, knowing that there was still only a slight chance that he would say no. It wasn’t a feasible forecast, given what’s asked Leon to roll with recently.

After a nervous breath, Leon started, “So, I was thinking, Dom, maybe you’d go with me…back to the club?” The tail end of his words strung together on the same syllable.

Being fluent in Jesse helped Dom process speedy speak. “Which club? Furious?” A surprising call. Not really if Dom thought about it. Any place that caused him to have a close brush with the cops always stayed off his radar for a hot minute until no one remembered he was there or the cops found another distraction.  

“Naw,” he shook his head, “—um, the Fox Hole Lounge.” Leon said cautiously.

Two roads were presented upon Leon’s admission: to either be a dick or not be a dick; that was the question. The little devil on his shoulder that sounded a hell of a lot like Vince and rubbed his tatted up hands together gave him two thumbs up, chanting _go for it, go for it, go!_ But the angel on his shoulder that looked and sounded like Letty, steel-toed boots included, warned him: _don’t even think about it_. He could feel the karmic dick punch if he disobeyed.

So Dom dropped his voice as he leaned in to share in Leon’s conspiracy game. “You feelin’ adventurous, Leon?” He mentally high-fived himself for wagging his eyebrows while keeping a straight face.

Then Leon did something unexpected: he blushed. Like blushed like Jesse talking to any person possessing XX chromosomes, though Leon’s recovery was a hell of a lot quicker, resulting in him knocking Dom back with a gentle shoulder shove. “Everyone’s adventurous when drunk enough, okay?” Which was absolutely true and half the reason Dom ever hooked up with Johnny Tran’s sister.  “Imma just be honest ‘bout it. But no, I was talking to Sophie—she’s the chick that—”

“—Works with Brian and Rome.” Dom finished for him, almost proud that Leon had tried his luck with a class act like Sophie. “She’s cool and she’s a friend.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, her. So, um, she said she works all the time to pay for school and that if she wasn’t studying, she’d be at the club, so I thought, y’know…” That Dom would go with him if he asked.

Knowing how much of a firecracker Sophie was, imagining the balance of her fire with Leon’s cool would be hella entertaining. Dom grinned as he settled back with arms crossed over his, brain spooling furiously to get first crack at teasing Leon’s budding romance.

Dom asked him, “Did she invite you to come by or did she dare you to man up to come and see her?” Two completely different scenarios.

Leon pulled a thoughtful expression as he considered his answer. “I mean, she told me that she worked there and may or may not have remembered me from--” Dom shook his head, throwing up a conversational roadblock as Vince would call it, and with a shake of his head encouraged Leon not to mention their adventure. Awesome results aside, he felt more comfortable not remembering the gory details.  

Leon continued, then shrugged, “Anyway, she said I should come by if I was serious. But like when she said it, she had _this look_ in her eye, like she was daring me to play chicken with her. So, I mean… I wanna take the chance. Just don’t wanna mess it up. ” He sucked his teeth and let mild exasperation roll through his tense shoulders. “Even my Eight Ball says the answer’s waiting for me.”

Leon fished his cell out of his pocket and unlocked the screen to show Dom a waiting text series of text messages. “Read this.”

The last message in the exchange was from Sophie aka _Mrs. Future_ as she was nicknamed in Leon’s contacts. It read: _I’m only taking on serious inquiries. You wanna see if you can handle me and my crazy life then come by the Fox Hole sometime and maybe we’ll find something else to talk about_.

After a pause, Dom lifted a shoulder in agreement, “Sure, why not.” At least, this gave him another reason to go back; this time made more legit by playing Leon’s wingman.

He opened his arms up for a little brotherly affection. “See, I knew you’d have my back. Never doubted it, Dom.  Knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

“Don’t oversell me playing your wingman. I know I’m great and all, but there are some miracles I can’t work—like getting you a date.” Dom leaned into Leon’s quick shoulder jab. The little Vince-Devil cheering happily for him reaching his daily dick quota. 

“No miracles required with me and Sophie.” Leon followed Jay-z’s advice by bushing the dirt off his shoulder and looked dreamily on. Visions of his date with Sophie dancing inside his eyes. “I’ve already got a new pair of sneaks and I’ll be looking so clean when I go in there, might have to call 9-1-1 when I step into the place. Cuz I’m ‘bout to set the place on fire.”

Dom would remember Leon’s bravado in this moment as soon as he was treated to a sample of Roberto and Enrique’s act. A few seconds of their act was just cause to keep EMS on standby. “Alright, Mr. Firestarter, I’ll remember you said that.” Oh, Dom would definitely remember.

Leon struck a cocky pose. The shit that one thought at fifteen was cool but knee-deep in the twenties realized was embarrassingly hilarious. “Good, cuz she’ll need 9-1-1 when she sees me. I’ll have poor Sophie passin’ out. Just fallin’ over into Swoon City. I can’t have that on my conscience, man.” Because Leon never took himself too seriously, Dom had to shrug the load off his shoulders and fall in line.

“Lee, you sure you want to go back there?” Dom knew taking this flirtation to Sophie’s turf was a big deal, but even Dom hadn’t been back to the club after Brian’s little reflection. Dom knew that Brian and Rome had worked legit overtime at the club to get it ready for its rebranding but Dom had respected Brian’s suggestion and hadn’t stepped foot back inside since then, so he wouldn’t be quite the expert in that strange territory if Leon was looking forward to him being his guide.

“Alright--” Leon started, then paused. “So you remember the party?” Of course, Dom nodded, then rolled his eyes. “Me and Sophie started talking…” Leon rehashed the night.

“And dancing.” Dom added.

Now Leon’s face lit up. “Yeah, we did!” Now, Dom could see where this wingman favor was going and just settled in—placed his back against the workbench and crossed his arms over his chest and listened to Leon’s barely tempered excitement. “So, we were kicking it, like, all night. I mean, I was feeling her out and everything I was putting out there; she was catching, tossing back at me, and making me keep up. She was really cool,” he said as a final pronouncement.

“That she is,” Dom agreed. “So, you’re planning to surprise her? Cuz I can’t pull any magic tricks and just make Sophie magically appear.”

Leon grinned broadly as he waved Dom off. “I think I can handle this hook-up all by myself. I’m telling you that we were vibing on a different level of awesomeness.” Leon was so frank about their connection that Dom seriously doubted the magic he’d felt at the time had anything to do with the Molly and the orange juice. “What I need from you is what you did for V the other night?”

Dom had to think back to what it was that he did for Vince other than play pool and run interference. “I already said I’d be your wingman. Can’t say that I blame you. I kinda kick ass at that, so I see what you need.”

Leon was definitely caught up. “I know I’m game for this. The question is: whether you’re gonna stay focused when we get into the lion’s den?”

Dom knew well enough from his adventures inside that the Fox Hole wasn’t a place to trifle with and dive into with any sort of shyness. “You don’t even have to ask, Man.”

Leon threw his arms up with closed fists like a boxer proudly celebrating a win and Dom eagerly tapped their fists to signify that they were once again all good. He might have had a reservation or two about disregarding Brian's advice, but curiosity won out and was driving him to see if Brian’s bruises had bloomed to a sick shade of yellow-green, or if Brian was also feeling that same itch from not seeing Dom for a handful of days.

“I’m telling you this is a win-win for both of us, cuz you get to see Brian…” Leon’s grin predicted satisfaction for Dom before the end of the night.

“He’ll be working.” Dom reminded Leon. “He won’t have time to hang out.” Because Brian’s job wasn’t to keep Dom distracted. The job was as comforting as the sharp end of a blade.

“True that, but he’ll make time for you. Seriously, Dom, you’re coming out on the better end of this deal than me. At least, you know that Brian would be cool with seeing you. Me? I’m still playing the _look at me-look at me_ game with Sophie. And just hoping that she don’t get bored.”

“Aw, what happened to _Mr. I’m So Fine Everybody Should Want Me or Else I’ll Be Offended?_. Maybe we should put the word out, because it sounds like he’s gone missing.”

Sighing with a roguish grin, Leon shrugged one final time. “He ain’t missing. Just trying to keep up.”

“Well, you put some gas in your tank and I’ll roll with you, say around ten-ish.” They’d been friends long enough to translate their quirks. Dom rolling with Leon meant he’d drive the Charger, much in the same way that Leon would roll up in the GT-R. Because riding _with_ always lead to that awkward moment of trying to decide who would be filling the passenger seat at the end of the night: the buddy or the babe? And tonight was Leon’s shot at getting the babe, so Dom could arrive at Fox Hole solo but hopefully leave his passenger seat occupied.

“All I can say is that I’m gonna be ready.” Leon promised, grinning to the max and putting his ink of full display. “I’m talkin’ a clean look—clothes, down to my all-star black Air Force Ones.” His rakish grin took on a sly bent. “Might even get myself a little more relaxed, y’know?” His type of relaxation technique Dom knew quite well, and though he didn’t advocate it for himself—Rome’s birthday party proving to be another occasion when that rationale held up to scrutiny—he didn’t begrudge Leon his methods for staying super Zen.

“Make sure you do something about the smell, alright? I don’t want Sophie to get one whiff of you and go backpedaling into the arms of some other tattooed skinny punk.” The mild insult triggered an impromptu round of sparring, all air punches and far more restrained than when they were kids, and in the quiet of the garage, giving them the space to act out by breaking one of his Pop’s cardinal rules without getting someone’s evil eye as a result.

After one last one-two combo that would have rocked Dom on the chin if it had been a real fight, Dom rolled his eyes before he and Leon fell into a brief brotherly embrace.

Dom said, “Maybe, I’ll bring an extra pair of shades for Sophie.” To answer Leon’s confused expression, Dom elaborated, “For all the bullshit you’re trying to blind her with. Just sayin’.”

“Laugh it up when your boy walks in the place and turns it into a mob scene.” Leon struck a few hilarious poses, imitating what Dom might have to do prospectively for crowd control. “Hands off, Ladies, I’m not parta the show.”

Between him, Vince and Leon, they each possessed a special skill they liked to flex. Leon’s was charm. “You’re lucky I’m such a good friend and that I’m kinda intrigued now and wanna see this play out; otherwise, I’d be leaving you to the mercy of the Ring Off brigade.” Already applauding himself for using the phrase. He was learning things from the eclectic mix of music that Brian forced on him.

“Hey, until Race Wars, you know I’m the only real show in town.” Leon cast a broad gesture. “So be prepared.”

Dom had to agree. “I’ll co-sign that statement for now and look forward to tonight without any regrets. But if I end up getting almost mauled like you did last time, I’m gonna let Mia loose on you.”

“That’s cold, bruh. But I think the only person giving you the vampire treatment is Bri.  I thinking you’re gonna have to forget about having any regrets—no regrets tonight. Just love, baby. Just love.”

After that, they continued to banter across the shop as they went through the process of locking it down for the night.

Race Wars caused them to beef up the security and continuously veto Vince’s idea to get a guard dog for multiple reasons.  One, Vince wanted a dog. Two, it would get spoiled rotten. Three, Dom might be a little afraid of anything larger than Mrs. Hobb’s tiny terror, which he would go to his grave before admitting to you.  

Dom considered texting Brian, then thought better of it, not wanting Leon to be pissed if Sophie got the head’s up on him dropping in; so Dom put his phone away and followed Leon out after locking the last open bay.

* * *

Dom might’ve been riding on some of Leon’s enthusiasm when he went out that night. He left Leon to be urban fly while Dom went for a more classically cool look: a clean white tee, a pair of jeans that would’ve made his Mami groan _Ay Dios mio_ , _jeans again!_ his black Tims with a sweet shine over the toe, and a black leather jacket that always looked cool despite L.A.’s generous summer heat.

Once again, the Fox Hole Lounge’s sign was the only beacon along the lonely road near the port. The occasional flash of headlights around the building’s glowing perimeter guided them towards consummately packed parking lot. Knowing that the club was barreling towards the end of wedding and divorce season kept Dom from taking offense at not being able to find a spot in the main lot; but rather finding he and Leon exiled to the large dirt patch adjacent to the parking lot.

Leon hopped out of his car with a spring in his step. That eagerness rolling through veins as potent as Jesse’s and at the moment twice as powerful. Dom, as per usual, kept his motions cool and steady, still in the process of steeling himself for what waited beyond the doors.

Looking around the two lots, Leon unleashed a sharp whistle between his lips. “Y’know I may really have to give this thing a try. Like, get Rome to show me a move or two, cuz this is obviously where all the money and the honeys have been hiding.” He said, totally impressed by the volume of cars attached to the club.

Dom gave Leon a long, questioning look before shaking his head, vehemently dismissing the idea, and moved towards the maze of cars. “And you forgot about Sophie just that quick, huh? I know you’re into trying new things but this turnaround has got to be a record or something.” An about-face this quick might trigger a change in ownership of the king of speed crown.

 Leon huffed out an easy laugh. “J-o-k-e, Dom. You ever heard of one?” Sarcasm coating his voice for a moment until it was chased by his usual lighthearted tone, “But, seriously, though they’ve gotta be making stupid money in this place? All high risks when you weight the embarrassment factor versus the dust ups with the mad husbands or ex-factors, but the rewards have gotta be sweet.”

Dom made an agreeing sound, though he continued walking. They passed through the mouth of the dirt lot and strode across the soundless black top until the entrance came into view.

He’d been right about the number of patrons in attendance; the place was packed and rolling with more than a few high rollers with expensive taste, way less minivans with bumper stickers declaring an honor student’s achievements tonight. Dom echoed Leon’s previous whistle as they skirted around the glossy chassis of a black Vanquish. But seeing a black on red Koenigsegg Agera sitting all cherry and pristine under a desolate streetlight made him and Leon stare in appreciation.

“That’s the kinda of life that makes you sleep tight every night,” Leon said, walking backwards to keep up his inspection of the car.

Dom roughly constructed the types of lives that afforded a person a car like that. With what the team did on the side, he could afford something like that but where was the fun or the challenge in owning a car that fast without putting sweat into its creation. Sweat made him appreciate the cost. “I prefer a little elbow grease to go with my speed.”

“Me too, Dom. But somethings—and that Agera definitely qualifies—are meant to be savored.”

Each took a mental snapshot of the car for memory’s sake. A little mental spanking never hurt when the source material was premmo grade.

Klaus stood guard over the entrance without his usual bored expression. His thick neck put his head through several slow revolutions before he caught sight of Dom and Leon approaching.

Klaus offered Dom a friendly nod. “I’m sorry I missed the party. Heard it was much fun and very entertaining.” His English coming out stilted and cold like his native Scandinavian winters.

“Maybe next time.” Dom replied. “One of these weekends you gotta come by our place when we cook out. I can vouch that there’s enough protein.” Knowing that a guy didn’t get big like Klaus without pounding the protein and dropping the carbs. Dom wasn’t meticulous about the way he ate, after getting a hit of Mama Pearce’s cake, he’d probably never be again, but he understood Klaus’s dedication and requirements, so it would be easier to be a gracious host.

The broad smile that stretched across the Klaus’s face in response was a wide as his massive neck. “On this, you have my promise,” he said, possibly grinning for the first time that night. Klaus looked around Dom to take in Leon at his shoulder before turning back to Dom questioningly.  Always, Dom played it cool.

He recognized the brief spark in Klaus’s eyes as the big man said to Leon, “Cover is twenty dollars.”

Dom felt Leon stiffen behind him. “Ain’t there a returning visitor discount?”

“No.” Klaus said without room for negating. “Just a price for guests and important patrons.”

So Leon forked over the cash and Klaus unclipped the red velvet rope, allowing them to crash into the swell of electronic snare drums. As soon as he realized that Dom hadn’t been forced to pay, Leon pointed out the issue to Klaus. “What’s up with not making him pay the cover?”

After a beat, Klaus shrugged one giant shoulder with the same slow smoothness as a barge being maneuvered into dry dock. “He is friend of club. You are… _you_.”

Dom chuckled then offered Klaus a wave as he rotated Leon in front of him and goaded him forward into the murky sea of strobe lights and sound.

On the team, Leon was known as the cool one. His temper was as fleeting as a spring rain but given the right motivation—messing with his car, his sneaks, or keeping him from the chica of his current dreams, then he’d crack the lid on his slumbering temper to prove that he wasn’t all quiet strength and Zen-like platitudes.

“Klaus has gotta get his kicks somehow after standing out there all night. If you knew the shit he had to deal with on the daily, you might even buy him a cold one or two.” Dom offered by way of subterfuge.

“I doubt it.” Leon muttered as they climbed the steps.

“Just keep your cool and the rest of the night’s gonna roll just as you want it to.” Dom had finished saying, just as Leon came to a stop on the top of the short flight of stairs with Dom plowing into his back. Totally not smooth.

Leon stepped to his left giving Dom a chance to look at what had caused him to put on the breaks. “I’m not sure if this is how I wanna roll.” Leon remarked as he spared a long glance around the packed floor. The booths, floor tables, and the bar were packed as Dom had previously assumed. The problem was that virtually body he could lay his eyes on was male.

Leon nodded in the general direction of the audience. “You can’t tell me that they’re here for the buffet, too. It’s not that damn good.”

“You’re right, I can’t.” Dom answered flatly, feeling multiple sets of eyes coming their way. He’d lost the gamble he’d made with himself. “This was a possibility.” He said because he really didn’t want to talk about this situation and hoped that Leon’s intuitive sense of understanding picked up on that fact.

He did thankfully. Dom oriented them towards the bar and began to fight the scrum to get a place well within Sophie’s view.

“How recently?” Leon finally asked after they snatched up a couple of stools, near Sophie’s favorite corner.

“A few weeks ago.” Dom answered, remembering how the brief exchange between him and Brian had caused some wounded feelings on both sides; that much he could admit now until Leon’s text had provided the buffer they needed to skirt beyond the knot of intangible hurts.

Leon put his back to the bar while Dom continued to face shelves of bottles that had become a vortex of neon blue, white, and silver spotlights; colors that instantly made him think of Brian and burn hot under his collar. The mirror put the rest of the wide arms of the room into reverse compared to Leon’s view.

“And Brian and Rome didn’t tell you that the club had gone nova like this?”

Truthfully, Leon was right about the club. Gone were the low set couches that were the prime real estate of bachelorette parties rolling ten deep; in their place were long exclusive black leather sofas that curled together in between silver and glass panels that divided the sections into six private suites. The low metal tables were now replaced with similar glass and silver trimmed circular tabletops that expanded the room around the table to mimic the luxury of a Romanesque lounge. The design invited the patrons to be a part of the show on a more economical scale. The selection of the bar was more impressive: with bottles of every caliber of blue, black, and gold label covering the shelves. Some contents the equivalent of certified moonshine if not for the international label on the box.

The ambiance wasn’t the only thing elevated. Dom had gotten inured to the horde of screaming women, escaping the doldrums of their lives, but he’d gladly welcome the danger of being propositioned and minimally assaulted in lieu of the sea of dudes that presented a curious mixture of downtown white collar stiffs and dudes like them who were certainly from every corner of ‘ _round the way_. They could blend in here all too well and that didn’t make Dom any less tense.

Finally, he returned to Leon’s question. “No, he didn’t.” Brian hadn’t mentioned how much the club had changed.

Brian’s gift for understating persons, places, and things had been something Dom had noticed earlier. It was a character quirk much like Dom’s ability to be faster than everyone else—some exclusions might apply—but he accepted it because Brian was upfront about everything else. Yet, there were two things that disquieted Dom as he sat shoulder to shoulder with one of his best friends and a swath of Los Angelino males with cash on the ready from a variety of legal, barely legal, and hush-hush enterprises: how could the Fox Hole Lounge pull this massive design overhaul off without being closed more than a couple of days and why did every guy in here give off the same vibe of macho as him?

Leon took in the floor and the show which featured a charged up Orange Julius doing a provocative bachata to a Drake song. The stripper pole Dom didn’t recall from the video though.

Leon’s hands went up in the universal sign of surrender. “So Imma take back my previous proposal. I’ll leave working in a place like this to the experts.”

Dom knew of one expert who he wouldn’t mind working elsewhere. The Fox Hole Lounge wasn’t shady by any stretch of the imagination. The buffet was relocated to a strategic location away from the entrance to the backrooms and close enough to the tables to keep the stage show in view. The problem was that the club had become ultra-inviting with tables nearly packed and standing room barely available. The change in scenery oscillated with the lights. With a couple of switch flips, the place transformed into a post-divorce or a last call bridal shower playground.

Leon took in the sights with unfettered curiosity. “I think my virtue wasn’t an issue the last time we were here. But now?” Leon paused as he deflected a couple of speculative looks turned his way and turned around to silently confer with Dom. “Yeah, now I’m glad I asked you to come with me as back-up.”

There was no smartass remark coming just yet, as Dom was still mentally shuffling through adjusting his opinion on the Fox Hole’s metamorphosis. Letting his imagination run wild with scenarios that placed Brian in a broad continuum of situations that left Dom’s blood boiling.

The last bars of the songs clicked and snapped into a quiet close, the woof from the speakers faded into the noisy ether of the room.

Two Coronas were placed in front of them, giving them another friendly face to distract them from Fox Hole’s organized chaos.

 “Look who got brave enough to test the waters.” Sophie turned her friendly grin on Dom, then lowered her eyelids and aimed a flirty look at Leon that was cool and tame by popular standards.

Flirting was as natural as breathing for Leon. “Yeah, you can call me brave on top of other things.” Leon smirked at Sophie.

Sophie spared Dom a look first before engaging Leon’s offer. “I was actually pegging you for the hard to get type. A little difficult to crack, maybe. It’s okay to be wrong sometimes.”

Seeing an opportunity to help his boy out, Dom pointed at Leon casually, “You thought this one was difficult? Naw, he’s all zen and transparent like water. Totally low maintenance.” He was a mechanic, not a car dealer, but Dom could make a sale when it mattered.

Sophie smiled at Leon first then turned to Dom again, directing her next question to him. “He trained in handling a lady right or are you just giving me the soft pitch so I’ll take him off your hands?”

“You know I’m not a stray, right?” Leon interjected as the house lights began to rise and the crowd’s attention shifted back to center stage. “You can be assured that I’m the type that doesn’t need a warranty, cuz I’m totally guaranteed to be exactly what you need.”

Dom would give Leon props later for being so smooth. Right now, Sophie was forced to give him a quick deliberation that culminated in a curt head nod and a finger held up with a promise to return.

She moved down the line slinging beers across the counter, pouring up shots ordered by the waitresses—many new faces that Dom figured must’ve rolled over from the club’s dayshift.

“Smooth, Lee.” Dom offered as a minor congratulatory gesture. “You’ve got better game than the Lakers.”  

Leon exhaled lowly before taking a long pull from his beer. “I’ve done quarter miles that were less scary than that.”

The stage had gone dark again, though unlike the quick set-up between previous acts, there was a heavy screen to hide the stage set-up from the crowd. Instead of a wall of grey obscuring their view, the club’s lights bounced across the surface displaying the club’s logo.

The crowd split in threes with a third directed towards the food, another third determined to get more bar service, and the last third seated and talking in low voices as some of the talent circulated offering dances.

The center light narrowed down to a white column into which a woman made tall by her dangerous red heels emerged, smiling and blowing kisses to the crowd.

“Thank you, boys, for your generosity. Asking this lot to be patient is quite a challenge.” Beyond the obvious English accent, she captured attention with her flawless face and flirtatious charm that could eat most men alive without smudging her lipstick.

It would take a really straight arrow—though one oriented completely in the opposite direction to not find her hot. She took the stage like a huntress ready for conquest, wearing colors that triggered thoughts of sex: her sinful red lipstick, platinum blond bombshell hair, and dark eyes that could send a man on a journey to hell and back for just the promise of a smile.

“Thank you, luvies for that show of attention given to our lovely Julius. In’it he made of the stuff of sweet dreams, yeah?” After a decent wave of applause, the MC rolled on with her sultry English purr. “We’re friends, aren’t we? So I can call us _mates._ ” She prowled the edge of the stage, winking and waving to her captive audience.

“Well, mates, I have right good news for the veterans of this club and better news for the newbies.  So, our best boy here—Joey—he’s almost ready for you. He’s a little shy so don’t be a rude bunch and ruin our best boy’s chance to give some of you sad wankers creative material.” That little jab earned a rumble of laughter from the audience. “Behave yeah, and Princess Charlotte will get Joey for your viewing pleasure.” She waited for the round of hooting interspersed between the applause before continuing.

Princess Charlotte knew how to work the crowd. “Five minutes until Joey put the dream into ya wet. Til then visit our lovely, lovely bar and the incomparable buffet. Only a right ghit would pass it up.” She departed with a final air kiss that seemed to sooth the hungry muttering. With her exit, a few of the guys, some who had attended Rome’s party like Slap Jack, Alex and Dwight, were making their way down on to the floor to meet the patrons.

After a beat, Leon quirked his head as he watched the action. “Joey.” Leon said once, then quietly repeated the name, allowing it to roll over his tongue as he chewed on it to digest a memory. “Joey? Sounds familiar.” Seconds later, he widened his eyes, signaling that he’d just made two plus two equal four.

Slap Jack and Alex noticed Dom as they did their circulating and there was a mutual exchange of head nods across the room but no time to talk as each was settling in to be the center of attention at tables stationed at polar points in the room.

“Should be familiar. It’s what Bri called himself when we came here.” A smart move that Com agreed with to keep some distance between Brian and the job.

He returned to watching Slap Jack and Alex. They were professional, Dom observed, as the pair worked their small crowds, trying to entice their clutch of patrons to spend a little extra to get a little extra attention. Neither demonstrated reservations with so much skin display. Those spandex short-shorts didn’t leave room for breath, let alone any shred of modesty. But the dancers rolled with it and didn’t flinch when the tops were pulled back to make room for bills.

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m still, like, fifty—no, make that sixty percent sure that I want Brian and Rome to show me some moves.” Just then a tall corner office type wearing a nighttime-ready jet black Hugo Boss suit stalked by, his eyes on Leon as he passed. Cool as ever, Leon simply gave him a small grin lacking teeth followed by a discrete shake of his head. “See, I’m already the total package; everybody wants a piece of this and I’m just trying to give Sophie first dibs.”

Dom kept his eye on Tall Businessman until he disappeared into the swell of traffic at the top of the bar. Stays in some of California’s least finest correctional institutions familiarized him with the behaviors adapted by men when locked inside tight spaces with varying levels of predators lurking along the walls. That loose prowl translated into interest or danger within the span of a blink, and sometimes both, much to the chagrin on the recipient.

So the thread of tension that sewed up his muscles into a defensive ridge kept him on edge. His discomfort developed as a hard-taught survival tactic. But Leon took the attention in stride, uttering a breezy snicker as he raised his beer in toast. “Can’t help myself, Dom.” He snickered, radiating satisfaction. “Everybody wants some of what I got, cuz I’m a bangin’, baby!”

“If you’re anymore full of yourself, then you can forget about you tryin’ to catch Sophie. It’ll be you floating off on the big head of yours that will send her chasing after you.”

That clapback earned Dom a mocking pat on the shoulder. “It’s healthy to be jealous. Only natural when faced with all this.” He made a show of flexing his tatted arms and flashing his silver chain as he pointed out the clean lines of his shave job. “Already forgave your poor taste for passing this over,” he grinned broadly as Dom made a sour face just thinking about Leon’s previous fit of indignation to Dom not taking an interest in him. “I’d kiss that shiny dome of yours like V does for luck,” he scoped their surroundings, “—but I don’t want the natives to get the wrong idea.”

“Neither do I.”

As he watched, Slap Jack straddle the lap of a dude in the center of a five piece crew that all looked at home on any side of a football field. If not that, then possibly shielding some megastar away from the paparazzi. It was still hard to wrap his head around this _experience_.

The Fox Hole might have had a little work done but it was just like any other titty bar he’d ever visited: a place where strippers made their dough selling the easy accessibility of what couldn’t be found at home and the patrons got enough vice to walk away happy—relaxed without feeling too grimy to return to the straight and narrow. The rules stayed the same, keeping the experience familiar, no matter who was riding a lap or swinging from the pole.

Of course Leon didn’t stop there. “Plus, I don’t want Bri to go all kung-fu grip on me like he did to those assholes from the club.”

The fight played back in Dom’s mind frequently.  He’d identified that sensation that had taken him by surprise after Brian dropped his chin and squared up the three wannabe thugs: pride.

His absolute faith that Brian could handle his own hadn’t wavered. Brian didn’t look to Dom for an assist that night, even though he knew Dom would’ve throw down in a minute. Secondly, mixed up in his pride over Brian’s myriad of skills was more spank bank material than he’d believed his mind capable of engineering; something that Dom considered best to not dwell on for long.

Dom put his bottle down now that there was only a mouthful left. “I call that a smart move. I had to tell Vince that his mouth might get him jumped.” Because Rome hadn’t lied about the O’Conner kids rolling deep.

“Damn right ‘bout that. No wonder Vince’s scared of baby sister. If Big Brother can pull that MMA shit out at the drop of a hat then what can Baby Sister do with her baby teeth and pigtails?”

Dom agreed with Leon’s assessment. Giselle and Suki earned his respect without question.

His eyes shifted to the stage where the track lights transitioned from white to red. “ Y’know I agree with you but I gotta ask if this is your way of declaring that you’re more afraid of Mia than me.” Not that Leon should ever fear him, his legendary temper aside; they were boys and they were family.

The stern look Leon issued Dom made Honest Abe look like a liar. “Yo, you never talked to Mia after she wrapped up studying for her organic chemistry and anatomy finals?” Dom shook his head. “Right, so you never got Mia’s explanation of how you can make a body disappear in three simple steps. Like one-two-three-poof!”

Sure, Dom knew how crazy smart his sister was. She was a freaking genius which he would proudly tell anyone listening, but he doubted that she’d been serious about such morbid shit. “You’re so full of shit.” Mia could throw down like the rest of them, her temper never piquing like his, but her retributions slower burning and intricate to achieve maximum retribution.

“Hand to God, Dom.” Leon lifted his hand in sincerity. “You can sleep easy knowing that if shit ever went sideways, Mia’d take care of you for sure.” Was it so apparent that his sister had his back like that? Dom heard Mia when she’d insinuated what she’d do if he ever got in trouble again, but he hadn’t really listened to her. Maybe he should start.

Sophie worked her way down the line, saving Dom from saying anything else.

“Two more?” She asked pointing at their empties, then placed two new icy bottles on the counter after Dom nodded yes.

Tipping his head in the direction of the stage, Dom asked Sophie, “I thought you liked hosting?”

“After our little reset, the bar started doing crazy business and I couldn’t split my time between riding the bar and the mic, so I called a friend to step in. With all my focus on keeping the bar wet, my tip jar has had to grow in size which I like very much. Now I can even talk about adding some luxuries to my ramen and buying new textbooks instead of used.” From beneath the bar, she pulled out a half-drained bottle of water.

Leon tipped his beer at Sophie. “Salud to such a fine hustling business lady.” Each took a drink after the toast.

Sophie handed a blue labelled bottle of vodka to a waitress standing at her shoulder, who disappeared just as soon as it was firmly in hand. “I like how we’re alternating the nights. For me, it means I’m never bored and I get to exercise a little creativity each night.”

There was an absence of sweet perfume in the air. Now the spice of spirits and the musk of male bodies filled every lungful of air and soaked through skin.

Dom scanned down the bar, noticing that the crowd had thinned out, drawing closer to the stage again. “I feel like you could make some sort of social commentary about what you’ve seen in the last few weeks.”

As Sophie ruminated on the question, she poured up a foursome of shots of Fuego del Caña and slid them down the countertop with perfect accuracy into the waiting hands of a thirty-something dude with a cord of tattoos around his neck that paid homage to Mother Mary and a few streets that to this day, Dom didn’t visit longer than necessary.  A sight that reiterated that the guys in here were just like him and Leon or maybe, just him.

“I’m sure our distributor could give you a better analysis than me. Creative advertising and marketing has got this place looking like this.”  Sophie whirled a finger around to emphasize her point. “Mostly, I make sure everyone walking through that door is satisfied with the bar. Maybe also sort the situations that require Klaus’s attention from the ones that need a good shoulder to cry on—figuratively and literally speaking.” Because a room of twenty to forty-something guys and top shelf liquor coupled with the suggestion of sex was an incendiary mix like propane introduced to a lit match; an extinguisher was always needed.

“How bad?” Dom asked her, mind spiraling down a rabbit hole of shit-stirring and growing agitated again that Brian hadn’t said anything.

Leon’s normal chill twisted into sober when he asked her, “Nothing you couldn’t handle, right?”

She smiled at him like he was puppy dog cute. “Nothing outside of the usual drunk asshole behavior. With this bunch, I rarely have to worry about them getting handsy with me or the other girls.” Meaning those hands were seeking to break the strip club golden rule elsewhere. “I can deal with the trash talk and the condescension, because that means the assholes get served last.”

“Right, right…” Leon nodded eagerly, supporting Sophie’s confidence.

She didn’t finish speaking due to a grating voice popping up behind them. “Sophie, you gotta clear this out and get eyes back on the stage.” Dom turned around to face Stasiak who was still below eye level despite Dom being seated.

Recognition rolled across the man’s weasel-like features until a show of teeth resembling a smile was unleashed on Dom. “Hadn’t seen you in a while. You paid the cover I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Dom stated baldly.

 Stasiak folded his arms over his chicken chest and put on his best impression of Chicken Little pretending to be the cock of the walk. “And I can also assume you’re still not interested in a job?”

Dom answered, unblinking. “Right again.”

Stasiak looked from Dom to Leon then back to Dom. “Too bad, we could use some extra muscle with a clean nose around here. If you change your mind, you know where to find us.” Stasiak reeled off an effusive _get on it_ gesture at Sophie then departed for the outer edges of the club to spy on the levels of customer satisfaction.  

Leon’s eyes swung from Stasiak’s retreating back to Dom. It was unnecessary for him to comment on the history of animosity between the pair, so he drifted to a juicer topic. “Is today like Look Past Leon Day and I didn’t get an invitation?”

Dom’s hackles were up again, this time completely unrelated to the exchange with Stasiak. He felt the pressure of eyes on his back, a weight without an identifiable source that put him on edge.

Finally, he turned back to Leon with the thought to remind himself to tell Brian about Stasiask’s about-face. “Lee, that guy is ball buster, so he was just tryin’ to rattle my cage. Then again, I think he’s just a chronic asshole, so.” He shrugged lazily, embodying that _you know how it goes_ sentiment.

Leon turned to Sophie who offered him a sympathetic look and other unspoken invitations. “First, Stasiak—my boss—is always an asshole. Second, Brian has kicked his ass for the betterment of us all. He’s a real hero of the people. Third, I’ll catch up with you after the show.” She slapped the bar before departing. “Enjoy the show and behave.” Sophie commanded, infusing the last word with an ominous delivery.  

The house lights dropped further until all eyes were on the Princess Charlotte standing front and center inside a shade of white with red and silver floor lights glowing at her feet. “Gents, you’ve waited so patiently for the show that I can promise Joey is going to offer you a special treat. You know that Joey is a good boy—a little shy—but who isn’t when standing in front of a handsome house like this?” The crowd roared in approval. “So, give our boy your eyes, luvies, he’ll reward you with something extra sweet. Something that’ll hit you right in the…heart.” She purred at last.

Thirty seconds from the metaphorical curtain drop, Penning—the older boss and Hawaiian shirt enthusiast—passed the bar, spotting Dom. What Dom initially read as a nod turned into a head nudge in the direction of the admin office.

“Something up?” Leon asked as Dom stepped off the stool.

Dom shook his head. “Just hold my spot. I may have to turn down another job offer.” He wove his way through the aisles that were far narrower now that the standing occupants were much broader and taller.

In the hall, Penning waited for him by the admin door. The hall’s length and insulation making the area a small vacuum compared to the electric air tunnel leading into the heart of the club.

“I’m told you’re still not interested in a job.” Bluntly, Penning stated.

“You heard right.” Because Dom found it silly that he would have to tell these guys no for a third time.

“You didn’t hear the offer.” Penning plowed on undeterred.

“I don’t need to hear it. I own two businesses and don’t need anything extra. Plus, I don’t own any good dancing shoes.  Why aren’t you slinging this offer Brian’s way or to the rest of your guys?”

Penning jutted his jaw as he considered his answer. “It’s for them that I’m looking for extra eyes around here.” Said like a father instead of a boss.

Why did Penning need more security? Obviously, they needed more bodies for crowd control, but the doggedness in hounding Dom implied that they needed loyalty on top of muscles with some brains.

“O’Conner’s been doing good since you’ve been coming around. Less mouthy and more professional. More creative too which has been good for business.” He gave Dom a slow assessment, then set his jaw firm. “Continue to come around then.” He offered as a parley. Or as a blessing if the paternal streak continued.  

Dom smirked. “Do I still have to pay the cover if I’m invited?”

“Yeah, but the first two beers are on the house.” Penning offered a deal that still put Dom on the losing end moneywise but marked him as no longer a threat by the management. So less hassles and no fuss, he could agree to those terms.

“Alright, you might see me around more.” He’d remember to ask Brian about the situation later. Though the promise to be seen around more had little do with free beer and more concern for whatever was putting the old man on edge.  

“If you know someone who might fit in, you know where to find me.” Penning opened the admin door and stepped inside after Dom’s single nod.  

As Dom walked down the hall, he heard Princess Charlotte’s departing words as the house lights fell to solid black and the stage lights flickered with columns of white and blue.

The pinprick of eyes on his back got him moving swiftly to the bar but not hurried. He didn’t attempt to find the eyes either. Couldn’t if he tried. Dom’s eyes were stuck ahead and like everyone else, he was lost in this little world that Joey was inviting them to visit. This little journey into his bedroom. Like watching a Playboy—make that Playgirl—Penthouse letter come to life.

The music kicked in: all tease and flirty beats that made his pulse jump.

Dom crossed the main floor as the music started, a seductive electronic stutter that instantly triggered the reflex to let the music burrow through the skin and lasso the bones. As tempting as a siren’s song, his resistance was a real feat--another hat trick that allowed him to navigate the already too tight lanes crowded with bodies without colliding into anyone or taking his eyes off the stage. 

 

"Everything cool, D?" Leon asked as the beat warbled into an electronic guitar wail.

 

Dom didn't look away when he said "Fine," and watched as Joey entered the stage.

 

Princess Charlotte hadn't lied about Joey being shy. Just undersold him being a tease. The stage disappeared as Joey moved softly from the back to the foreground. He dressed like a punk-ass nerdy kid with suspendered captured khakis and long tube socks with a long sleeved shirt buttoned up nearly to the chin. The clunky black glasses and the baseball cap dropped to shield the eyes was a curious touch. He looked like a giant nerd, maybe Urkel’s white cousin, which seemed just as endearing as it was funny. 

 

 Joey moved from back to front, skirting the edge of a four poster metal-frame bed. The stage evaporated as Joey slithered to the beat, smoother than his outfit implied and with each syncopated beat, he sold a teenage fantasy that had never crossed Dom’s mind before but stirred heat low in the basement of his belly now. His limbs fluttered to the music slowly, increasing with the tempo until he popped the first button on the shirt. He leaned into the front bedposts for support and lifted his hips forward, rocking them to the beat, shifting his hips in a fluid slide as if switching gears.

 

More buttons were lost as Joey gripped the post behind him, using it for leverage as he slipped down into a smooth partial split then ended up gliding forward to the mouth of the stage’s catwalk. Stray hands and dollars popped up from the dark; all rewarding him with bills, some venturing into the rim of his pants or into the shallow valley between the suspenders or over the bare skin revealed by his open shirt.

 

Stomach on display while his abs rolled to the bass, Joey shyly touched those phantoms hands and rocked in and out of confronting his audience. He leaned back over lip of the walk to allow a messy fan of bills to drop into the back of his pants. Losing the shirt and the glasses came next as he crawled then pivoted into a twisting crouch in front of the bed as the sultry up-tempo dropped the last vestiges of Joey’s shyness.

 

He worked the posts again, first the left then the right, unclipping a suspender at each one. The muscles in his back bunching and rolling as he danced in a serpentine wind around one post to the other. Then he got on the bed on his hands and knees, rocking his body through a circuit of _down-up_ and _forward-back_ until he came up on his knees and undid the buttons on the pants while his hips churned slowly in perfect synchrony with the song. It was an allusion to one-on-one personal time, drawing attention to Joey’s hands as the zipper dropped to expose the black border of his shorts, so low that a slip of his hand would’ve presented his dick to the air and the three hundred eyes in the room.

 

Going down on his back, Joey opened his thighs and rubbed over the long lines of muscle. His hips rolled up, thrusting slowly against the air as he spread his arms across the corners of the bed. Again, rising to his knees to draw attention to what they couldn’t see as his hands traveled down his chest to belly button and down into the open mouth of his khakis; both hands disappearing inside once he got there. His hands made a show of pumping harshly against the wide zipper until Joey slumped back on the bed, his legs still trapped under him as he continued to ride and stroke through the intimate chorus of knowing the power of the touch of his hand on the audience.

 

As the chorus petered out and grew more desperate, Joey gave final hard thrust, ripping the pants off, leaving him wearing only the minimal black briefs that covered the narrow zone of his ass and beyond. His body rolled through the final chords, climaxing right through every stage of imagined sex.

 

The stage lights dropped again, leaving a tri-beam of lights—white, blue, and silver—merging together into a solid cone on the metal pole and the black cable suspended next to it. Only fifteen seconds was required for the stagehands to wheel the bed off and for the new track to swim up from a murky intro into a sonic haze while Joey leapt up, gripping the pole and swinging around slowly until he climbed higher and swerved harder.

 

A tick faster now.

 

Then the beat dropped.

 

Joey reached out in mid-spin for the black cable and released the pole. The momentum of the handoff spun him in a wild tornado for a dizzying span of seconds. Then he arched his body up and decelerated as the beat receded like a wave against the shore.

 

So when the beat dropped, Joey dropped into a filthy wide legged position. He curved around the pole for a long series of body waves as bills rained over the stage. He released the pole to propel himself down the wide edge of the stage, his hips and ass jumping in-sync with the treble as he glided across the floor so smoothly like his knees and arms were oiled.

 

So smooth without the friction of stray hands reaching out for him with bills or just to slow him down. From left to right, Joey worked the stage, fortifying the illusion that each of them was invited to be an audience of one. At the final stroll through the refrain, Joey met those hands head on and dangerously swam his body in and out of range, still tempting the audience with each spinning twist that was a testament to quick knees and strong arms.

 

The song faded out with a promise that one day they’d know: _Know what it was like to be hypnotized? Know what it was like to be so hard the ache penetrated the bones? Know what it was to feel a hunger that couldn’t be satisfied with food?_

 

Dom needed a drink way stronger than Corona.

 

With the final roll of Joey’s body against the floor, Dom’s pulse thundered a growling _mine, mine, mine,_ blood pressure shooting rocketing like his body was preparing for a battle to the death. A thought shared by the audience’s hive mind; a phenomenon that probably instigated many epic battles throughout history. Hadn’t Dom learned that Troy had fallen for this reason?  

 

Compared to before when the bridal parties roved the floor in packs, the applause didn’t climb as high but the green on the stage looked like snow, covering every black visible inch. So much money to pick up that the stagehands’ retrieval delayed the next act.

 

Without the haze of the music, reality returned, showing that the spell had tamed every patron in the room. Every seat on the floor had been filled, the buffet noticeably empty, and the walls packed fairly tight with bodies at attention. The boggy fragrance of hot food, liquor, and manufactured smoke dominated the air without the performance’s visual distraction.

 

“Jesus.” Leon hissed once, drawing out the sound like a stressed balloon. A toothpick exiled between two fingers like a lonely in the center of the ocean. “That was…” He trailed off at a loss for words.

 

Which was exactly how Dom felt. “Yeah.” Agreed Dom, looking everywhere but the stage.

 

Leon leaned on the bar, his cool frayed like old rope as he sought attention from Sophie or anyone else capable of offering him a shot. “I need a drink. No, make that two shots.” He turned to Dom. “How ‘bout you?”

 

Dom restrained a smile, knowing what Leon might’ve been going through. “Same.”

“Yeah, make that four shots.” Leon yelled at a waitress, zooming past the bar. “Man, gotta say I’m proud of you. You’re all zen and shit now. I mean, no completely, but you’re more chill than before.”

Reflexively, Dom’s brow furrowed. “How so?”

Leon palmed his toothpick as he began to explain. “Like, before if you had to sit through something like that—with dude or anybody checking out ya girl or Let, whoever, you’d probably be driving the Charger through the front wall by now. Since you don’t look like you’re contemplating bulldozing the place or burning it down to ground, I gotta say congratulations on this new enlightenment thing you got goin’ on.”

 _Enlightenment_ , Leon said? That wasn't it as far as Dom was concerned.

In the all-too brief break between the sets, the bar began to fill up again. The early peace Dom and Leon had shared during the triple set evaporated quick like the space between the bar stools; they were now elbow to elbow in a crowd about twenty-five dudes deep that were looking for something to drown the fire Joey's performance started.

From the north end of the bar, Dom watched Sophie man the tall liquor bottles, pouring out shots with the determination of an embattled field general; her eyes cutting over two the Fox Hole's newest hires and her mouth not so kindly directing them to move their asses faster to get the drinks out.

It was one of the newbies with a headful of honey blonde hair that came their way during a second pass. Though new to the Fox Hole, something about her was vaguely familiar to Dom. She stretched a hand out to a waiting cocktail waitress who was bouncing like a sprinter in a relay, barely patient for the tin bucket full of ice and expensive beer that Dom was fairly fond of as a consequence of Rome's birthday party. With the exchange made, she headed towards them.

She threw a cutesy smile Dom’s way which quickly morphed into a teasing smirk. He remembered that _smirk_. The realization hit him hard: she was one of the chicks with Hobbs from the stoop.

"What can I get you, gentlemen?" She asked as her grin swung from Dom to Leon, making a closed loop.

Yeah, Dom could feel the pointed glace Leon threw him after picking up on the subtext of her friendly customer service smile. "Shots," Leon ordered over the rising house music.

Her name tag read _Elena_ ; her name Dom remembered when Mrs. Hobbs heaped ultra-sweet praise on her and the brunette with the thick thighs and hard-won shoulders while they waited for Hobbs to quit dragging ass.

Two glasses appeared in front of them. Dom ignored Leon’s searching look until he heard him ask, "Two more, please."

So Elena added two more glasses to the countertop, this time questioning Leon, then Dom about what to put inside those four little glasses. "So Tequila or not?"

Dom offered Leon the opportunity to take the lead. His loyalty was still to Corona and any beer that could be cut with a slice of lime. But the harder stuff, he left to Leon's expertise.

"I'm game for whatever." He told Leon.

To Leon, Elena asked, "What are you looking for tonight? Style, adventure, forgetfulness, or freedom?" At the last word, her eyes met Dom's, making his brow cock automatically.

Patting Dom's shoulder, Leon answered earnestly. "We've got all-a that already.” Then chuckled. “Sweet, chica. Tonight is all about the sweet side of life, so hit us with some of that Avíon Reserva.”

“Now, this I like.” She said to them, then laid out a line of limes and an extra glass as she began to pour the tequila.

Dom found it hard not to track her movements as she watched him back. For once alcohol was the answer to his problem. He grabbed the shot, toasted, “Salud,” and downed it in a short swallow.

Elena was working him for more than tips each time she flicked her fickle blue bedroom eyes at him. If this attention had been turned on him some months ago before their accidental adventure here, before Dom got a lapful of six feet a just a little extra of gorgeous fearlessness, then he might've bit. He might've snagged the wedge of lime she held between her teeth now to see if her lips still carried the burn of tequila.  

But no, he shook off the mental cobwebs after a second.  Looking at her reminded him of viewing a picture that hadn’t been processed through the right filter. The hair wasn’t the correct shade of honey blond. The blue of her eyes not familiarly peculiar. The curves of her face beautiful, just too soft.

Dom asked her. “Thanks for the drink. You moonlighting between the gym and this place now?”

“I go where the money goes.” Pointing vaguely at the crowd, she explained, “And I have close friends on both sides here. It’s a good way to make some cash while keeping them out of trouble.”

“Right.” Now he realized that he’d misinterpreted her curiosity for flirtatiousness.

As Elena slid down the bar, Dom took his second shot slowly to the head; Leon, however, was stalled with his, instead watching Dom with raised eyebrows and a janky grin. “Dom. Seriously?.”

“Yeah, Lee?”

Still holding the shot, Leon beamed at him proudly, “I feel like I was just at the center of something earth shattering. I feel like I need to make sure you ain’t been body snatched. But I kinda want to congratulate you instead, or maybe, just buy you another shot.” Jesse possessed an unshakeable belief in body snatchers and somehow convinced Leon of the same.

Dom shrugged. “You called it enlightenment. I’m just… I’m just _good_. But if you’re buying, then I’m game.”

Leon clapped him on the shoulder. "We all gotta grow up sometime, even if it takes a playground like this to get ya there, it's still worth it."

"True, Lee, very true." These days, Dom's smiles weren't forced; they weren't sharp-edged and waiting for the nitrous to blow. No, he was cruising right now: doing a buck-ten on empty roads, with nothing but clear skies and familiar engines at his back.

So, they threw back the final shot, gasping from the dueling burn of pure tequila and ripe lime, but laughing through the sting, because the sting, as his Pop had once said made you happy to be alive.

 "Can I ask you a question, Dom?" Asked Leon as he lazily worked his mouth to capture the last edges of the alcohol on his lips.

"Whatever you want. The country's still free last time I checked." That gut instinct that always kept him ahead made Dom straighten up out of his loose lean on the bar's edge.

"I know you'll tell me when to shut it down if I'm crossing a line or whatever, or you'll just remind me that a closet full of sneaks ain't keeping my arms warm, so…" Dom urged him on with permissive wave over his glasses. "Just curious, is all. I wanted to know if you'd thought about where you wanna go with this. Like if you thought about the end game? I mean, cuz you just said it: you're _good_ , Dom, and that means somethin’. You and Bri are better than good and you know it, too."

If Dom doubled-down on each of his pink slips just now, then he would’ve been rolling fresh and clean with a new ride for each day of the week. His gut proved him right again.  

"This is that one time, Lee, where I'm not gonna look ahead. Imma just stick to what I can see. The here. The now. That's everything that's important. What comes next? I'll leave for tomorrow."

"Right." Leon exhaled in low drawl like he'd released the word from deep inside his chest.

"Exactly." Was all Dom could say.

The overhead lights flickered once, only to be followed by a general rumble from the crowd that dissembled quickly into a few sporadic pockets of whistling and yelled appreciation. Between the music and the reaction from the crowd, it wasn't necessary to turn around to peep the new talent coming to the stage.

Easy was letting the background noise clamp down on their conversation. Shit with Leon always started down a straight road before quickly hooking left, drifting far too close to immoveable barriers. The smart man eased around the barrier; the brave brushed against it, while the foolish—like those _tontos_ that his Mami warned him about—drove right through them without thinking about the logistics of the effort, operating on blind faith and enough bravado to fly to the moon.

"I know it might be the alcohol, but those tacos are talkin' to me." Leon rubbed his belly.

"What're they sayin', Lee?"

"Dom, man, you know they’re telling me to man up and grab a plate." Leon shrugged. "I mean, if Vince could go for broke by basically eating the buffet down to the last tray and wake up—well, as Vince-like as possible, then I think I can feed my inner beast and not miss work."

Dom thought of Brian’s many claims during the night they went out to the Dock East Diner. "I know for a fact that hepatitis ain't on the menu here, so you're good."

"Thanks for the hook-up. I'm glad that insider info is being put to good use." Gesturing to the designated food area, Leon made his intentions known by pointing, "So I'm gonna go dive in and then I'll be back. If Sophie comes around, I know you're gonna turn you that DT charm on her and get her to come my way."

"Yeah, I'll be the world's greatest wingman for you." Dom smirked.

The crowd at the bar had waned enough that Dom could spread out as comfortably as one could with the pounding scratch and whine of EDM bouncing off the walls from a billion different angles.

A wall of mirrors gave him a clear view to the show that a tattooed up new hire was putting on. The dude was skinny like Leon but covered with so much ink that he looked like he was nearly fully dressed despite being down to his Fox Hole Lounge signature low riding shorts.

Dom might’ve claimed limited expert knowledge about dancing, so he couldn’t judge this dude for trying to make a dollar. He was an expert about cars. An expert in driving. An expert in moving things between tight and fast places. An expert at family. An expert at sex. A minor expert at dancing from watching Brian and Rome practice for hours, critiquing or just taking shots at each other, like all bros did, without understanding the form and function of what they were putting their bodies through.

He caught the attention of another new hire behind the bar. "Corona." He said as she leaned in close to hear him over the music. The order was met with a smile that was a tick above the usual customer service, his suspicion confirmed by the vintage silver pail she laid before him loaded with ice, Corona, and also apparently, on the house which he read her from her lips.

Another perk of being him. Wondering who had put the word out for him to be taken care of gave him a growing list of suspects, including Brian—obviously, Sophie, Elena, even Stasiak, made his mental rooster for a second until the conversation beside him grew audible during a muffled trough in the track spinning for the act on stage.

His interest raised after hearing, "--I'm just waitin’ to put my money down for some time in the back." Said Number One.

Followed by Number Two who replied, "Me too. I'm just less obvious about it, man. I'm keepin’ it cool waitin’ to get my time with Redbone with the blue eyes or smiley-time Papi over there." Pointing out Slap Jack and Orange Julius with a slight nod.

Anyone else might’ve assumed Dom was enjoying his beer and chilling out until Leon made his return. The two next to him had only brushed his radar due to proximity and the vague resemblance one of them shared with a dude who used to run factory parts from dock at low, low prices. A kid by the name of Alvarez, who was also a distant cousin of Hector’s. While the guy surveilling the place wore a suit that would’ve made Rome jealous. Confidence radiated from the suit which perfectly matched his striking dark skin.

Alvarez held his beer as he gestured in the direction of the Champagne Rooms.  "Every place has got its rules to keep things on the up and up, but once in the back that’s when you really learn what's up, and I'm hoping that the rules were made to be broken."

Mr. Smart Suit agreed apparently, reaching for his wallet to make a bid to go back. "For the right amount, anyone's down to smash. A place like this doesn't go from sandbox to playas' paradise unless they're offering to let you play if you pay."

"Most definitely." Alvarez stated.  

Mr. Smart Suit drank Hennessy 250 with no ice. "You can go for the Boy Wonders out there, but I'm aiming high and going for Golden Boy." He paused to savor another taste from his glass before starting again, this time gesturing expertly at his friend. "Joey-Boy was trying to tell us a story. Maybe a little true life piece about not getting enough attention? Or, maybe it was just what it was: an understanding of how the game goes. A dolla can make anybody holla, but not a boy like that. What I got in my pocket --both things in my pocket--will make that boy sing. He's not the Golden Boy for no reason and he's trying to sell." He pointed to the dark entrance leading to the Champagne Rooms. "I wanna buy, got the cash and that's the only thing that matters."

“Dolla rule?” Alvarez smirked with his bottle lazily resting on his bottom lip.

Then Smart Suit said to his friend, “For enough stacks, I can guarantee any one of ‘em will be down to smash.”

Then it all went quiet. No more talk. No clink of glass bottles reverbing after a refill. No more music. Just the hot whoosh in his ears that grew from a low snap to roaring surge. This was a dark place. So dark he’d only been here a couple of times before. First, when his Mami died, then watching his Pop burn, and then the night when he and Brian had hoofed it back to house after that barely missed brush with the cops.

But this?

Keeping his head down with his eyes directed at the bar was fairly easy. If he saw his reflection in the mirror, then he would have seen the Look. He'd never seen his face when he got like this. Knew how Vince started crowing at first, thrilled with Dom unleashing the beast, but quickly sobered when he realized control was far out of Dom’s hands. Leon would shake his head and wait it out, while Jesse and Mia gave him space. Letty, though, stood toe to toe with him, got in his face, and waited him out without blinking.

Brian got the surface of it and nothing else. Brian. No, he'd listened to Dom talk about the rage, but he was clear of it. _Brian_ , his mind supplied again, drowning out the whoosh in his ears.

If he looked up then he might’ve seen the _look_ made Johnny Tran back off. The face that Kenny Linder saw with the wrench dropped. The look his first challenger got in Lompoc: eyes gone coal black, fury smoldering inside them, body still like a loaded trap, muscle heavy for a fight with blood ready to erupt. Explode. Everything inside him lit up on red. 

And now, the bottle grew hot in his hand as his grip grow tighter and tighter. The pulse repeating only one important thing. Brian. If he looked at Mr. Smart Suit, then the fight would’ve been over before it started.

There were balls. There was nerve. Then there was just really fucking stupid.

Anyone with eyes could see that Brian was more than just a dancer. He was smart and loyal, and brave, and, fuck, if that didn't make the pressure beneath his hand shift as the Corona bottle began to slip. Calling him a stripper would've been inadequate. What Brian was and what he wasn't was not any of those things Smart Suit and Alvarez implied. He wasn't _sucio_...wasn't used up and tradeable. He wasn't a thing.

Each breath that slipped between his lips held back a wall of chaos. But the wall could falter; Mr. Smart Suit’s mouth tested it as he began, "A little taste is all I want. If Good Boy offers more..."His roguish grin supplying the rest.

Dom shook his head. Never. Brian didn't get down like that, and the audacity for them to question it? No, just no.

Just as Dom shifted to get into position to have a conversation of his own, he found himself at the center of a nexus. To his left, the Team of Dumb and Dumber. From up ahead, Leon approached, spurred on by his sixth sense for when shit was about to go down, his hands that were steadying a plate modestly stacked for normal human consumption but his eyes on Dom and whoever triggered the _look_. Then there was Princess Charlotte whose red lipstick was the matched the shade of red rolling inside Dom’s head.

“Follow me,” she said without preamble, barely waiting for him to comply. Like a shark, she cut her way through the leagues of thick male bodies to swim away from the bar. She smiled flirtatiously  at him over her shoulder, knowing that there was still a high likelihood of her smile snagging a catch along the way.

Dom followed her closely. Brushing against the same shoulder, he asked her, “Anywhere in particular or you giving me a tour I’ve already taken?”

She glanced back. “Friendly with the off-stage bits, are you? Just my kinda boy.” Princess Charlotte hummed thoughtfully. Her lipstick was redder up close. Fresh blood red. She led him on with a crook of her finger and Dom followed.

“Yes?”

“Keep up.”  She ordered with a slight pout.

“Where to?”

“Away from so many eyes.” She scanned him from head to toe. “If only you weren’t taken…” Her lamented half-hearted, the suggestion though implied heavily. “The possibilities.”

Yeah, he knew what she was offering, could imagine what a woman like her liked and gave back in return, but Dom didn’t find himself missing what she was offering.

“Too bad for you.”

“I’m a classy lady. I don’t pouch on taken property.”

As they neared the fork in the hallway dividing the dark corridors into wings around the stage, the Champagne Rooms, and the staff only areas, Dom caught sight of Brian and Sophie talking or starting to part ways as Sophie took steps backwards and motioned towards the general direction of the music.

Brian jerked his head towards the back and mouthed a complicated series of airy words that Dom couldn’t make out but Sophie could, then he was being wrenched by the sleeve of his jacket then towed back. He felt a tap on his shoulder as well and half-turned to see Leon at his side. “Where you goin’?” Leon yelled at over the music.

Dom pointed to the hostess and then steered Leon’s gaze towards Sophie at the DJ booth. “I was invited back, so I gotta go see what’s up.” By all appearances, Leon attempted to appear as though he contemplated following Dom, but Dom saved him the trouble of asking. “I’ll meet you at the bar when I’m done.”

“Have fun, D. But if it’s another job offer being dangled at you, don’t forget your friend, aight?” Then Leon knocked shoulders together and dipped out towards his chance to hook up with Sophie.

Lady MC was waiting for him about ten feet ahead at the moment of the corridor. The neon sign for the Champagne Room painting her down in a wash of blue on black neon, making her beautiful and dangerous like a retro techno femme fatale waiting for her newest prey. Dom stepped up to her, only to receive a mega grin from lips gone full black in the neon light, and she said, “C’mon, I promised to shepherd you back so that you could settle something.”

“Last time, I checked I had no tab here, so I don’t know what I need to be settling.”

“No, my job,” she moved down the main hall with him trailing behind her.

Which was how Dom ended up in an oblique corner inside the Champagne Corridor. The corner was weirdly positioned by being nearly out of sight of the doors feeding into the private rooms and far from the hard left gunning towards the inner sanctum of the club.

“See you in a bit, luv,” she waved with a cheeky grin that blazed in black and white in the neon dark. Dom watched her watched her walk away until the saw a small sliver of light from down the way, somewhat near the other way that led behind the stage and into the tiny locker room that the dancers occupied.

Settling back against the wall, Dom waited only a few moments before Brian joined him—or a shadow close enough to Brian’s joined him. Oblique angles of light cast from the stubborn _No Exit_ sign and the jewel blue remnants escaping around the edges of the Champagne Room doors lit Brian’s approach in a startling black light.

Taking in those obscene black short-brief things that barely kept Brian, well, in check, and the new addition of a pair of extra-long tube socks, complete with the thick double stripe across the mouth and then down to the pair of reliable Chucks had Dom’s mind ricocheting thoughts around in his head like a game of pinball on speed.

But what left his mouth was, “You cold?” Asking but already moving off the wall to intercept Brian.

Brian raked a hand through his hair before giving him a sideways look. “A little, mostly sweaty though.”

Of course, he reached out for Brian, pulling him in close, and thinking to hell with soaking up some of Brian’s funk. It was the sweat of hard work, and if it meant that he wouldn’t be as cold or as exposed, then, frankly, Dom didn’t give a shit.

“This is…new.” Dom would let Brian interpret the statement however he liked.

Brian maneuvered them so that his back was to the wall and Dom stood at his front, a position that Dom liked even better, now knowing that he was definitely keeping Brian from the hungry masses settled a fraction of his previous unease. It soothed him to put his hands on the hard flairs of Brian’s hips, only to feel Brian slip his hands under his jacket to catch some of his warmth.

Suddenly Dom thought about some penguin documentary that he watched with Jesse. It wasn’t long after he’d gotten out, and everyone had swarmed around him, almost like everyone was on Dom-duty, waiting to see if he was gonna crack, and when the time came for Jess’s turn, the kid settled down and sat with Dom and just let him zone out. So they’d watched a documentary about freaking penguins which seemed to be so damn important now. Just like those fucking turtles his Pop had been talking about way back when in the time _Before_.

But, shit, there weren’t any storms that Dom could see. Not right now. Nonetheless, they leaned together in a neat huddle, foreheads touching, breathing in the same silent cadence against the quaking rattle of the new track the dj’s spinning. Just sharing heat like penguins did in the lonely march for survival.

Recognition hit Dom once he opened his eyes. He’d been in this place with Brian. “Okay, what’s up with this spot?”

Brian pointed up to oblong shape hovering above the red shadow cast by the Exit sign. “Just wait for it.” He said.

“A clue, maybe?”

“I’ve got five minutes and need a…” he searched for the right word, “ refresher before I have to go out there and you owe me, so one plus one equals you giving me what I need.”

The speakers quieted. Dom’s rumble seemed thunderous in the relative quiet. “What do you want me to do?”

And Brian said, “I’ll give you a jumpstart until you’re ready to do your thing.” Then as if Brian and the Fox Hole Lounge were a symbiotic entity, a new track began to spin that was slower, hypnotic and determined to be heard, because there was a message in there just for them.

So when Brian started moving, Dom’s hands smoothed out over his hips and started running the short track of his costume in deliberate loops. His fingers tracing over the warm stretch that managed to hold secrets in spite of the limited coverage. His fingernails snagged on a thick strap just below the top of the shorts, wide enough to cover his fingers as he rode them beneath the soft lip of fabric. He looked down just the once—to make it count—as he fingers rolled forward with the strap, stopping just an inch or two above the Red Zone in the front, though it curved wide in the back.  

“This is…” His brain shorting out, just losing his words, like of his good sense that should’ve kept him out of situations like this. His thoughts suddenly rallying behind the idea of dropping his shoulder and throwing Brian under it then jetting out the back door. His reasons in favor of the plan would be too numerous to count.

At least, he was here with Leon who would forgive him for ditching.

Brian’s words were going on strike as well. The search for the right ones made more difficult with each brush of skin against warm cotton and leather. “This is me putting on the big boy pants so that I can do my job.” Brian answered defiantly.

Defensive Dom could do just as easily, because that answer wasn’t good enough. “Naw, I’ve seen what the job requires. This ain’t necessary for a dollar.”

“Who said anything about dollars, Dom? I’m just trying to meet up with my good friend Ben.” Everyone from pole dancers to beat cops to white collar types and beyond loved seeing their good friend Benji and his favorite number 100.

“Just wondering if there are limits to getting the Benjamins? Seems like some of ‘em out there think the sky’s the limit if you--”and he did only mean Brian, “give ‘em the time of day.”

 Brian tilted his head as he looked at him, cocked it just so to look at Dom from a curious angle. “You sound worried.”

“I’m not.”

Brian might have straightened out the look he’d given Dom, but it was pretty obvious to read that he didn’t believe Dom’s denial for a minute. “Just chock flights of fantasy up to the job. Sometimes being too good has its downsides. You know how it is.”

And Dom did know how it was to be too good in comparison. Such skill drew as many admirers as it did haters. Just in this case, Brian had a lopsided reserve of the former and a discrete handful of the latter.

Brian made a little move that drew Dom forward and allowed himself to be further caged against the wall. Without the press of so many bodies, the club’s ambient cool was more apparent in the hall, coupled with Brian’s sheet of sweat and the barely legal getup, it didn’t take much insight to leap to the next conclusion. Dom made a feigned attempt a pulling back. “Looks like you got it under control. You don’t need me then?”

Brian shifted his grip to halt Dom’s retreat. “I’m still cold.” He said and shifted his legs wider, which Dom deliberately stepped between.

“Any of your fans could warm you up.”

Brian spared him a glare, Ice Prince cold. “Naw, Dom, that’s your job.”

Brian had him against the wall, face buried deep in the alley of Dom’s throat with his hand clutching into the leather sleeves of his jacket. Obviously, he was being handled, something that Dom would never allow, but with Brian doing it, the strength in his hands translated into determination and furious hunger that was just for Dom.

Brian inhaled the scent of his skin and Dom dipped his head down fifteen degrees to draw his nose through the damp ends of Brian’s sweaty curls. He had fire in his belly and thunder in his veins as he breathed deeper and pressed back into Brian, sinking further into the hard body on the wall.

He inhaled again and that dark place in his brain was sparked. Each breath triggered that primal center as they stood in the murky wine-colored dark and scent marked one another. Yeah, this moment in the dark cave ensnared by seductive sound tempered the stoking fire of rage that had grown during the performance and blazed listening to the assessment of Brian’s presumed accessibility.

No, this little field trip down the hall wasn’t just for his sake. Not for soothing Dom’s ruffled feathers. Brian, like him, was dropping an ownership tag on him. Offering up a stack of hot-blooded reassurance that Brian was as much his as he was Brian’s. And shit, if that wasn’t like a shot of NOS running through every cell in his body.

Grazing the sharp edge of his teeth over the swell of Dom’s trap was a ridiculous prelude to a mark, to a bite, to a goddamn mating claim. It was an act of eternal resistance to keep his hands docked at Brian’s hips and not sliding down the back to grab handfuls of Brian or even lower to get perch on Brian’s thighs so that Dom could lift and launch Brian into perfect position.

Brian bit at his lip. “Don’t think I forgot about what you owe me.”

Dom cocked a single brow. “And what do you think I owe you? We haven’t made any bets as far as I remember.”

“No, I asked you if you could dance when we were at Club Fury. Your answer was some vague blah blah bullshit and you tried but quit on me when we were on the floor.” So Brian had known it was him. “So I figure you owe for leaving me high and dry.”

“Still not ringing any bells…But if I did give you a dance, it would totally blow your mind.”

“Or maybe, you’re worried it will blow something else.” Brian smirked.

“Naw, I think it will amaze you—astound you. You ain’t even on the verge of being ready for that.”

And because Dom challenged him Brian narrowed his eyes and started giving him that grin that only came out when he was crossing the finish line or flinging himself into the middle of absolute craziness.

A throat cleared beside them. “Excuse me, I’m really sorry to do this Brian, but time’s up.”  Sophie looked everywhere but at the tangled mass of Dom and Brian in the corner and Leon stood behind her, trying to look as cool as ten million dollars but his reserve faltered with each shift of the corner of his mouth. Finally, he hid his smile behind his fist before dipping his head to look away.

Brian snapped his head around to find Sophie. “Okay, Sophie.” He hadn’t let Dom go. “Sup, Leon.” Brian said as cool as ice like embarrassment couldn’t stick to him.

“Hey, Bri,” Leon responded while urging Sophie towards the mouth of the corridor. “Good show, man. Like, amazing.” Being friends since forever, Dom knew Leon just as well as Leon knew him. So Dom could tell that his friend was far to the left of his usual cool. “Catch up with you later, Bri. Let’s go, Sophie.”

Dark or not, it was obvious that feisty bartender was just as sprung on his best friend as he was on her. “Sure, I’ve got work for you.” She glanced at Leon for a beat too long. “Sorry, it’s just the price of doing business around here.” This she said to Brian and Dom as she and Leon got farther away.  

“Be out in a sec.” Brian told her, reassuring her that the message had been received.

“Okay.” She answered with a demure smile. Dom wasn’t good at reading lips in the near dark, but he was pretty sure he saw her mouth the word _almost_ before she turned away and started down the main corridor with Leon trailing after her like her body guard.  

The door leading from the stage to the tight nook between the dressing rooms and the Champagne Rooms opened to the sight of Rome straightening and fluffing a handful of crumpled bills between quickly shuffling hands. There was only a third of the stack left until his count was complete when Rome stopped short with a bill suspended in the air.

“Well, looks like Hot and Spicy are reunited again, and from the looks of things,” he drawled, smirking from ear to ear, his assumptions managing to be louder than his mouth. “—we may need to call the fire department to keep the two of y’all from tryin’ to burn the place down with all that friction.”

Brian appeared around Dom’s shoulder like the moon passing through an eclipse with the sun and replied to Rome, “While you’re making calls, bruh, I think we need to get you some WD-40 in a hurry, cuz your joints and your rhythm must be a little stiff if that’s all you made so far.” Dom tapped Brian’s hip and offered him a congratulatory head nod, because in the game of life, he was pretty sure that Brian had just sunk Rome’s battleship.

After an all around the world eye roll, Rome tucked the stack of bills into a neat roll and stuffed them into his pants. “Laugh it up, Sugar and Spice. Not everyone can be as fly as me or get money like me, so I understand the jealousy.”

“And now we see where that money goes.” Dom clapped back. It was only fair because that wad of money in Rome’s little shorts made him look like he was smuggling a tin can down the front of his shorts. “What you got there? Two hundred? Three? Just need to know the exact amount that can give a guy _self-esteem_ like yours.” That little remark earned him a tap on the back and Brian’s chance to give him a giant congratulatory grin.

Rome made a show of bristling until he crossed his arms pouting. “Haha, laugh it up. Everybody’s got jokes til the tuition and rent are due. See how much you’ll be laughing when USC comes to bite that ass.” Rome stopped just short of the pair, so close that with a sneeze, he would end up sandwiched between Brian and Dom. “We’ve got a good thing going here, so we’re not going to ruin it by pissing off 5-o or the Health Inspector.”

Whereas Dom was able to smile at Rome’s intervention, Brian rolled his eyes and settled for looking relatively pissed. Not _I’ll kick your ass_ pissed, just _there will be revenge_ pissed.

Dom was about forty percent of the way to full hard-on: closes enough to be ready for action but not committed enough to kick ass. The small shifts of Brian’s body, keeping him in a steady state.

Brian nodded once. “Sophie already gave me a head’s up, so I’m gonna get back to it in a sec.” Rome shifted his eyes first from Brian then to Dom and back again, like he was trying read into the intricacies of Brian asking for a moment to chill the fuck out.

 Seeing a moment to run interference as Brian was demonstrating that the terms and conditions of hot and bothered weren’t limited to being just a turn of phrase, Dom decided to unleash an earlier thought. “I got a deal for you. We need a tie breaker for Han’s Pick of The Week. Just come by the store.” Dom couldn’t have planned this better if he’d tried. An opportunity for Rome to eat was an opportunity to keep Rome busy.

Rome drew up one eyebrow speculatively. “In exchange for what?”

Dom looked to Brian who picked up on his play without a hitch. “Whatever you can come up with, genius.” Brian sassed his brother.

If Dom was sitting at a solid forty-five percent until lift-off, then Brian riding close to seventy, and as much as the pair of brothers loved each other and could toss around bullshit for shits and giggles, right now was hardly the time. Each brush of their hips illustrated just how hard the situation was.

Rome appeared to consider the offer. Scratched his chin and let his mind wander over the possibilities. “Answer me one thing, though: Y’all do Taco Tuesday or naw?” Rome asked.

Dom shook his head _no_.

Rome scoffed, “Well, all I can say is that you need to get on that, cuz everybody loves Taco Tuesday.” And given the size of Rome’s mouth and his appetite, Dom actually trusted his advice.

From outward appearances, it might have seemed that Brian was starting to relax against the wall but Dom could feel how reclining his shoulders inched his hips forward to drive the front of those tiny shorts deeper into Dom’s hip. The only sign of his need was the erratic flare and release of his jaw.

Brian slid his gaze back to Rome. “When we’re done, you can take my car home. Just home.” He reiterated. “And keep a lid on things at home until I get back. You always say you want to be king of the castle, so here’s your shot. Make sure that the twins go to sleep and that the girls don’t throw a massive rager again. I don’t wanna come home butt-ass tired to Mrs. Hobbs and Cujo waiting for me on the porch Full Metal Jacket style.”

With a wave of his hand, Rome swept away Brian’s concerns. “Now, what had happened last time wasn’t my fault and you know this, Mr. Let-G-Have-Her-Batcave-Bedroom. Hm-huh.” Rome turned to Dom looking for support or just another ear to hear this undoubtedly batshit crazy story. “How about this: how was I supposed to know that G was turning her room into a goddamn Motel Six? I mean, the water bill had been high as hell—high like we’re trying to bring the Pacific to our backyard high, but damn, it was ridiculous. Come to find out that G was letting some of her little rugrat friends hang out in the house and Suki was running interference with Mrs. Hobbs, cuz she was seeing this Underground Railroad of random kids running through our house when the grown folks were away.”

Dom glanced at Brian who offered him a small confirmatory nod. Which reminded Dom to ask Brian about the status of the Little Sis Bail Fund.

Rome continued on while snickering.  Fresh off the stage, he was starting to sweat, causing the corridor’s dimmed neon to reflect off his dark skin like living steel. The sight didn’t do anything for Dom, just registered in his mind the same way the eye naturally discerned attractiveness in a crowd without lingering.

Not that Rome would have been upset with Dom’s inspection. The dude thrived on attention like Tinker Bell needed applause to live—all of this known to Dom because: one) he had a little sister and two) he always found himself in the middle of Vince’s story time with the twins when they visited the garage.

“—So Suki ain’t innocent in none of that. Suk told Mrs. Hobbs that those two-legged locusts were—check it—our cousins.” He paused for dramatic effect. “I mean, she looked at us, then them and must’ve  thought _shit, alright_ and kept it moving. Somehow Tej got involved in this crap and Frankensteined the cable so they could get the Food Network and Project Runway, then our two tired asses come home and it’s like, Suki and Mrs. Hobbs are trying to build a replica of Cinderella’s gown with yarn, tulle, hot glue, and glitter and there’s a group twenty-deep in the kitchen trying to cook kiola steaks--”

“Kobe beef, Rome.” Brian corrected.

Rome scoffed, “Did we eat any of it? No! Cuz they scattered like roaches when the lights came on.”

Dom bit back a laugh. “You’re saying all of this why? Because I know you can handle yourself, Rome.”

Rolling his eyes from top to bottom to top again, Rome’s schooled look could’ve only been learned at the heel of Mama Pearce. It was judgmental without betraying which kind of judgment said look was giving you. “Naw, Imma be good. I was just sayin’ all of that to get y’all to pump the breaks. It was gettin’ a little too hot…in _here_.” Nelly would be offended, seriously.

Brian thumped his head on the wall and groaned, “Seriously, just say no to shitty jokes, Rome.”

Rome leaned into Brian’s side, close enough to turn the close angle between Brian and Dom into a full triangle. “Jokes aside, you ain’t comin’ home tonight.” He directed at Brian, then to Dom, he said, “Have fun but it you change your mind, you know what to do.” Message delivered he settled back into his effusive charm. Rome began shaking his head with a scandalized look on his face, a face totally made for soap opera drama, and clutched at his neck. “You’re not coming home…what kind of an example are you setting, Po-Po?”

Brian’s answering grin blossomed slow and sweetly, starting with the slow curling of his lips until he swept his eyes over Dom for a long pause before shifting his attention back to Rome. “The kind that you’d imitate if you had somewhere to go to.” Answered Brian, still one hundred and ten percent hot and bothered, and holy shit, did Dom like that.

“Rude.” Rome shook his head with mock-disgust. “I’ll see you up there. Somebody else besides me’s gotta make some money around here.” Light followed him after he disappeared into the little niche in the corridor, quacking slipping inside the dressing room.

A quick reassessment now that they were alone had Dom admitting that he was about fifty—no, fifty-five percent of the way there. He could get down in public, had done it a couple dozen occasions, but Dom didn’t want to do that here—definitely not here with the sharks swimming out front, and certainly not with Brian like that. His lizard brain got off on Brian being his completely and totally, with no competition.

Finally, Brian stopped vibrating against him like an idling engine but that hadn’t stopped Dom’s hands from settling high over the jut of his hips bones.  “Two hours tops,” Brian told Dom. “Think you can stick it out?” Hands moving up Dom’s chest to cradle the gleam of his cross.

Two hours was asking a lot, but there were promises being etched into his memory with each shift of almost skin on skin contact. “Get a little food in me and no more tequila, then I think I can make it for a stretch.”

“I can recommend the honey chicken and the coffee. No hepatitis in either. Scout’s honor.”

“You’re the furthest thing away from a scout.” Looking pure in the daytime, but looking like straight up confessional worthy sin when the lights dropped. “One day, you’ve gotta tell me what’s with the hepatitis thing.”

“Maybe I will. Go hang out with Leon and I’ll find you later.”

“You better, cuz you just gave your ride to someone else.” Dom chuckled.

Smirking and dropping his voice, Brian leaned into Dom, curling his fingers around his favorite anchor and breathed against Dom’s neck low and steady until he reached Dom’s ear. “Don’t worry about my ride, Dom. Far as I can tell, it’s still waiting for me.” He brushed the heel of his hand over the front of Dom’s jeans and that waffling fifty percent jumped to seventy-five. Then, he dropped his hand and eased around Dom, calling over his shoulder, “See you at the end of the night.”  

Watching Brian walk away reminded him of the slow burn ignited by standing behind a pair of taillights. Instinct told him to follow and sling past so that they could be face to face again, running too hot and vibrating from the core out when skin met skin.

The descent into lassitude Dom could blame on the heady mix of raging hormones, tequila, and unsated hunger. He stood in the hall for a good five minutes, only got moving when he saw the distinctive silhouettes of male bodies coming down the hall; undoubtedly heading towards the Champagne Rooms.  

His discomfort at being in the Fox Hole Lounge hadn’t lessened, so he took his phone out and ducked his head as the dancer and the client hooked a short right into the Champagne Room corridor.

With the impetus to head back to the bar, Dom started towards the open mouth of the hall, the music turning up and rising into clean sound as he escaped the dark. His walk was interrupted for a second time by a loud Hawaiian print shirt that was discordantly attached to the fixed features of the Big Boss, Penning.

The older man’s sharp eye recognized Dom almost immediately, “Still not interested??”

Dom let his hands settle into his pockets, settling into a loose and comfortable stance. “ Yeah, I’m curious as hell why you’d be trying to offer me a permanent spot around here.” Dom baited Penning for the real talk.

“It’s simple: You don’t go from crawling to sprinting without someone breathing down your back, and this place has gone from boondock curiosity to an investment opportunity.” The emphasis placed on the last words making it clear that the white collars in the front weren’t the ones seeking to drop their money into formal ties to this place.

“Like I told you before, I’ve already got a job, so I’m not down for adding one more.”

The old man nodded stiffly with all upper lip and iron-jawed determination. “That’s understandable. Yet, you can see it from my side too: You know how to handle difficult situations and difficult people, I should say.”

Now if Penning had been neutral personality in Dom’s eyes, then slinging shit at Brian in any manner of speaking was a sure as shit way to get sent to Dom’s blacklist with a gold fucking star.

“Just cuz you’ve been inside of a cage with dangerous animals, don’t make you a lion tamer.” Dom stated flatted.

“That’s it doesn’t.” Responded Penning, who tried to tread carefully. He didn’t know how many layers he’d gotten Brian to peel back. “I’ve seen a lot of dancers come through those doors to work the stage. Pretty girls and boys. But there have only been a few that have been talented and smart and too dangerous for their own good. The kid’s been like a lit firecracker in a closed hand, with everyone waiting for him to reach the end of his fuse.” The implication being that there had been a few near misses, but the kid’s got a longer fuse than expected.

“I can’t take any credit for that. If you know Brian, then you know it’s complicated.” Brian’s favorite word that described the alpha and omega of his issues.

“Keep that credit in the bank, Toretto. Just know that things are better. I don’t worry about the business as much because his business is in check. I’ve learned to let the guardrails do their job; I’d think that you would agree with that.”

“Sometimes.”

Shrugging Penning started to stalk stiffly towards the darkened office door. “If you reconsider, your role would be more than just another big body to move through our problems. I’ve been reassured that you’ve got something just as powerful as those big muscle going upstairs between those two ears of yours.”

After a stilted pause, Dom answered, “Thank you?” Accepting a grudging compliment.

Penning grumbled in reply. “If you’d excuse me, I’ve gotta get back to work. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Will do.”

For the next two hours, Dom endured the kaleidoscope of warbling 808s and cascading neon lights. There was an undercurrent of lime and sugar in the air that wafted from the bar, overpowering the appetizing collection of smells that reminded Dom just how little he’d eaten that day. That paranoia about the eyes on his back wasn’t unfounded, as he spied a distant acquaintance—more of a friend of a friend—who Dom had seen infrequently at races around Korea Town and once or twice when venturing out towards the Valley. The first pass of inspection went unnoticed; the second time, Dom saw him stiffen and the dark light of recognition fill his eyes. Back to Corona by then, Dom lifted his bottle in salute from across the bar and David Park did the same, then submerged himself into the crowd far from Dom’s eyes. An implied threat of mutually assured destruction hanging between them as they parted distant ways.

The weight of those unseen eyes hadn’t let up, but Dom maybe didn’t care as much because he was still working on another Corona and had finally crossed into the barrier of trying a little something-something from the buffet. He could now agree with Vince, Leon, and Brian’s recommendations. It was actually good. Not better than the café but it was serviceable for an extra-early start.

When his ass started to protest from sitting too long at the bar, Dom migrated to the sorely underused pool table in the back. It was hidden treasure in a small annex cattycorner to the DJ booth. Not the best place to play but it was the recipient of decent lighting as a result of its close proximity to the music booth. The games were stutter-steps between the acts on stage but they were stimulating enough. His voice might have gotten a little scratchy from having to call out:  “Eight ball, corner pocket,” for the next couple of hours. At least, Dom’s skills wouldn’t be rusty by the end of the summer.

As the late night fully transitioned into an early morning and the crowd starting to thin out, seeking new bars to hop or beds to fill, Dom found himself wrapping up another flirty conversation with Elena at the bar.

Sophie and Leon were sandwiched behind the turntables, the laptop in the central pedestal spotlighted the pair in the dark booth; despite the lack of light, Dom and Elena could easily count the volley of flirtatious grins being exchanged between them. True to his mission, Leon had taken every opportunity to hang with Sophie, watched her delegate, and sat enraptured as she spun the music for the night. There might have been a few texts sent to Dom with thumbs up and firework emojis to chart his progress. He might have a place in the Fox Hole Lounge after all.

Elena handed Dom a bottle of water. “They look good together, right?” Then she started a final sweep of the bar surface. The lights flickering overhead to signal last call.

“Yeah. Dom replied as he let the cool bottle sweat between his palms. “He didn’t need me to be his wingman; he already had it in the bag.” Cool, confident, and rolling on absolute Zen made Leon’s natural charm so effective.  

Elena traded a few bottles of water for cash before she returned to her spot in front of Dom. “So this means I’ll be seeing more of him, just like I’ll see more of you.” Her statement was as true as it was flirtatious. It would be so easy to bite the bait. A beautiful girl like her, smiling at him, and offering up a challenge if he wanted one. So easy if he wanted it.

But it was Letty’s voice in his head, sneaking up on him to ethereally chide him to not make Brian chase him. “I’ll be around sometimes, but I’m just here for a performer.” Not the show and not her. In the past, yeah, but not today.

She offered him an understanding smile. “That’s something I could drink to.” Elena traded her cleaning rag for a bottle of water. “To loyalty,” she toasted, “something that there can never be enough of in this world.”  She’d worn a chain around her neck during the night that had shifted into view as she’d worked; under Dom’s eyes, she removed the chain to reveal a ring laced through it. “I told my husband that it’s a strategy for my tips.”

Now, Dom was impressed. The challenge he saw in her was right indeed; her intention for pressing him with the flirting wasn’t for a little fun on the side, she was testing him for Brian. “It must be a requirement that everyone around here wears trouble like a nametag.”

“Only on Tuesdays,” she grinned back. “We just watch out for our own.” The set wrapped up on stage, leaving the remaining stage flies with just the exits as options for the rest of the night.

Not quite half-past the hour and the floor crew was already halfway through dissembling the room, sweeping floors, and stacking chairs on the cleaned tabletops. A few stools around the mainstage were still occupied with patrons waiting until the end of the final set—usually by one the new guys before rolling out or possibly stepping up to see if the show could continue elsewhere, if the same rules applied as they did with other strip joints that Dom had visited.

A gaggle of waitress flocked at the far end of the bar to reconcile their checks and counting tips with lethal concentration. The floors were cleaned, free of mixed puddles of alcohol, and food lost to diverted attention. It was just down to him and Leon as the only non-Fox Hole staff in the joint, or so Dom thought until a tall figure emerged from the inner arch of the booth farthest from the stage. Dom watched the guy rise to his feet, adjusting first his right then his left cuff on his shirt and sport coat.  

He descended from the sky platform to the slow drags of a down tempo guitar riding on the hypnotic pound of true _tambores_. Stalking between the tables to reach the bar without regard for the signal from the raised house lights; striding along like last call had been a quirky suggestion rather than a final order, one clearly not directed at him or insisting that he hurry.

Elena flicked her eyes to Dom who raised a single brow at the last man standing’s cockiness. She walked down the bar to meet the patron of the night.

Elena spoke first, “Need something, sir?”

After a thorough once-over that was as direct as any verbal proposition, the guy said, “A water and change.” Elena ignored the look and its intent, instead making for the water bottles in the fridge down wind of Dom, which he knew were not cold. The type of customer service that came with a tip and a complimentary _fuck you_.

Specs wise, the guy would’ve stood out in the crowd in spite of fitting in with the general assemblage. Above average height wearing a suit that Dom recognized as tailor cut, possibly expensive enough to actually make Rome weep with envy and an unassailable assurance that he possessed not only the biggest dick in the room but was the only one who knew how to use it within a twenty mile radius.

 He was young but his style was old.  His suit looked styled after a TCM marathon or just sixty years too late. But the cigars in his breast pocket and the pinkie ring on his left hand signaled that was just a wannabe gangster prick. Had watched too many mafia movies and had taken cosplay to a new level. Dom had Jesse to thank for that little nugget of knowledge.

The thousand dollar suit had one weak point: shallow pockets. The guy placed his key fob on the counter before diving in to search for his cash. The silver oval body had the intricate design of a leaf’s vasculature merging down the center into one cohesive silver vein.

“Bet you haven’t seen one of these.” The guy stated offhandedly, though Dom figured he was the intended recipient, given that he was his closest target. “That’s okay if you haven’t. It’s one of six in the country.”

“The insurance must be a bitch.” Just like the owner, Dom thought. 

He threw Dom a smirk that would’ve resulted in missing teeth and Ag Sig time, if a con was lucky, in Lompoc. Behind the smirk, the guy said, “Not a bitch if you can afford it.” He chuckled once as he handed over his cash—a Benjamin in exchange for a three-fifty bottle of water. Elena’s prior smile was strained into a warm grimace; the waitresses closing out their checks, scowling at him for the gesture.

Ignoring the influx of hate directed at him, he asked Elena, “Is the Center Stage Experience still on the menu?” She nodded. “I think I’ll do that next time. Just to treat myself.” He cut his eyes to Dom but continued to smile at Elena as he received his assortment of bills and two quarters. He dropped a twenty on the counter. “Thanks for the drink.” Then stalked towards the stairs leading to the exit.

Elena opened the register to take the till to management but she stopped in front of Dom one more time. “Something Sophie taught me: Closing time brings out the worst in people.” There was no flirty smile to go with her small nod, signaling the end of the night was finally here as she rounded the bar to seek out Stasiak and Penning.  

She was right about the official end of the night being here. The staff collected their stuff and headed for the exits across the main room. Dom passed a few of the dancers he knew as he headed to the DJ booth where Leon and Sophie were talking to Rome.

The arm Leon had draped around Sophie looked comfortable. “I’m gonna give Sophie a ride home.” Leon said to Dom.

Sophie added, “My car’s decided that my money isn’t being spent quickly enough.” Her fingers twining over her shoulder with Leon’s as she spoke.

“Bring it to the shop.” Offered Dom, knowing they would hook Sophie up without breaking her bank by any stretch.

“You don’t have to tell me twice. I will. Thanks, Dom.”

Rome tapped Dom on the arm. “Yo, Bri went out the back. I guess he didn’t want to run into the fan club, you know how it goes, so you’ll find him at the Charger.”

Dom appreciated the tip. “Cool, just come by the café before noon to help Han with the picks.” Keeping his goodbyes short, Dom made the appropriate gestures then headed for the back corridor which was the only exit that mattered.

The night air turned cool, he thought, or maybe it was the hours adjusting to the natural humidity produced by bodies that made the chill bothersome. Ozone filled the air, portending that an early shower was coming to wash them clean again; drain away the dirt from another night gone by.

All corners of the lot lay nearly empty, save for the scattered assortment of cars belonging to the staff, including the Brian’s, and the Charger and Leon’s yellow’s GT-R sitting lonely in the crushed gravel lot. Or not as lonely as Dom previously assumed now seeing that Brian’s was stopped halfway there, having a conversation with two guys, looking comfy leaning on a Land Rover.

Dom didn’t like the way Brian appeared to be nearly pinned in and his gut agreed. Even though he’d seen Brian handle himself, Dom was battling instinct that said he should step up and handle the situation for him.

Dom heard Brian say, “I’m not looking for a new job.”

“—a job’s a job, right?” Said the dark-haired member of the duo. “And this place, despite its new paint and charming personality, won’t keep you from just treading water.” He dropped his shoulder beneath the Bald one’s right and rested there.

“Freedom is all we’re offering.” Number Two commented.

Dom watched Brian lean just the slightest bit off his heels, a move that enabled movement, speaking to the subtle shifts that came naturally with dancer’s grace; a move that suggested that Brian was far from at ease in the presence of the pair.

“Like I said, I’m fine where I am.” Brian’s repeat was loaded with enough frost to bury the artic. “My brother and I have a good set up here and if I’m not leaving then I know he’s not leaving either.”

The pair of men snaring Brian inside a narrow loop possessed the hardened looks that came with time spent in tough places: the military, prison, and the worst end of rough scrambling from day to day came to mind for Dom when he looked at them. Mia wasn’t the only one in the family capable of subtextual reading and making intelligent inferences. The bald one struck him as the brawn while the shorter brunette with the thin moustache and micro soul-patch was obviously the brains.

The Brainy Brunette smirked at Brian after giving Dom an assessing gaze that was too amused. “Haven’t you heard, O’Conner? We run a family business. Just me and my brother, so we understand fraternal loyalty better than most.” His rebuttal was as loaded as Dom’s Mami’s thrice-stuffed empanadas, but saturated with wrongness.

Dom deliberately dragged his feet as he got closer. The Land Rover Duo turned twin gazes on his approach while Brian didn’t flinch. “Was just sayin’ goodnight.” Making it sound like Brian was expecting him.

When the Number Two’s attention shifted to Dom, he started inspecting him with the careful eye that one would expect in a meat packing plant. Brian stepped up, simply saying, “No.” Drawing the attention back on himself.

There was an unsettling amount of triumph on the brunette’s face. “We like to think of our business as an evolving enterprise: We treat our client’s pleasurers and our performers desire to _perform_.” The English accent didn’t polish the dirt off the implications of those performances. They were English like the Queen, tea, and Jaguars but neither evoked an air of civility. They’d look at home crossing winter deserts and savoring the victory of conquest. Too bad L.A. didn’t have many corners left to conquer.

Baldie chimed in, his voice raspier and lazier than the brunette’s, dropping hard vowels as he spoke.  “Whateva your methods—stage, booth, tricks, traps, back pages, or engagements; our aim’s to please.” Baldie’s assessment of Dom left him smiling. “You can even bring ya mate. Don’t you agree, Owen?”

Now Dom was starting to take personal offense. Did he look like he was going through some sort of economic hardship that made people assume that he was in need of work?

“Not interested,” Dom reiterated gruffly. Repeating himself four times indeed was his limit for accommodating other’s inability to read his blatant disinterest working for anyone but himself.    

Owen was the smarter of the two, interpreting the flat line of Dom’s mouth and his unwillingness to blink as a warning to back the fuck off. “Be nice, Deckard.” The order was as gentle as a kitten’s paw.

Though he backed off Dom, Owen continued to skirt the edge of Brian’s melting cool. Figuring his persistence and charm would carry the offer home, he continued to work the soft sale. “Your set proved that you have too much talent for this lil pond. Should you desire to swim with the big fish, you know how to contact us.” With a jaunty salute, the pair climbed inside the Land Rover and hooked a sharp left without spraying gravel as they drove to the exit.

Brian only dropped back a step when the Land Rover started forward. Neither of them saying anything until the Land Rover was out of the lot, burning up the street towards parts unknown to Dom.

Dom knew that asking Brian if he was okay was the wrong question. Instead he decided to go for light, hoping that Brian would meet him there. “So, is the Fox Hole hosting a job fair cuz everyone seems to be in a hiring mood around here?”

Brian gave him a curious look and the start of a smile. “You too?” Brian took a deep breath. “Did Penning try to persuade you to keep Klaus company?”

Dom motioned towards the Charger, seeing no need for the conversation to continue outside under the threat of rain.  “Actually, it was a double hit, or a triple hit. The count’s gotten fuzzy. Stasiak and Penning—twice, by the way—tried to pick my brain and make me an offer. Almost gave me goosebumps being so popular all of a sudden.”

Chuckling Brian rode Dom’s brainwave, imagining Penning and his Hawaiian shirts trying to make Dom an offer he couldn’t refuse Godfather style. Brian bumped into Dom as they walked. “Don’t get too popular for me, Dom.” Brian teased without heat.

“Me? No, I was just here to enjoy the show. Everything else is extra. _Way extra_. After Race Wars, none of us will be hurting for money.” While thinking wistful thoughts, they crossed the lonely lot to the Charger. If there was enough money after Race Wars, then maybe Fox Hole would seem like a less viable option for Brian. Dom could only hope.

There was one thing he couldn’t figure out, requiring a little clarification from Brian. “Alright, it might be the beer, but tell me what’s up with those two. Cuz something’s _off_ about them…”There was a dynamic between Owen and Deckard made his skin crawl. “And making a job offer in a parking lot ain’t it.”

Brian defaulted to stuffing his hands into his pockets, sighing, “No, your gut is right. I’ve always felt the same way. The Shaws came here about five years ago, since then they’ve got a string of clubs from Silver Lake to West Hollywood. They pull in a lot of bank. Lotta talk out there about _how_ they do business.” Which explained Brian’s refusal to work for them.

Business aside, there was more going on than what was being said with words. “And what about that vibe?”

“Everyone picks up on that. Let’s just say that me and Rome are close, but the Shaws? There’s close, too close, and just unnatural if you’re gonna believe the rumors, which everyone seems to do.”

Dom tracked the Land Rover’s course before staring at Brian in disbelief. “You’re not lying.”

“Rumors say it rhymes with _invest_ but is way grosser.”

Dom’s stomach rolled, making him regret asking.  “Alright, done. Let’s go.” He didn’t want to hear anything else. Hearing Brian turn them down was the best outcome imaginable.

Dom tossed Brian the keys. “Drive.” There was still too much Corona and tequila in his system to tempt fate. Brian turned over the keys like they were a precious relic. Then he glanced from Dom to the keys in his palm which jingled as he clutched them tighter. “What?” Dom asked him.

Brian gave the keys a low toss. “How many people have you let drive this car?” He paused to hold them up. “Not trying to be an asshole about this, just—it’s just kinda a big deal when you think about it.”

A voice that shared Vince’s humor piped up with _hell yeah, it’s big when you think about it_. Lucky for him,  his brain to mouth filter was still intact, so Dom gave himself a couple of seconds to process what Brian had actually said, and then he, well, got it.

“My Pop’s keys, now my keys, and cuz what’s mine is yours, your keys…for tonight.” He tacked on without care for being smooth. “Trust, right, it’s huge.”  There was also the issue that Dom was leaning to the right of somber. “Right now, I can trust to you not to get Cheeto dust in my car or scratch the paint, so I’m good to go if you are.”

“Feels like I should be making an announcement or something. At least, lettin’ Rome know so that this goes out on the Gram or whatever.” Brian’s tone full of too many emotions for Dom to unravel so early in the morning.

Big gestures were a part of Dom’s make-up but announcements—jokes or otherwise about _them_ —were capable of making Dom’s stomach flip-flop in a disquieting manner that only surfaced whenever he felt the absence of friction leading into a tailspin. The simple truth was that Dom just wasn’t ready for that. For an announcement. They were Brian and Dom when there were eyes watching, but when it was just them— _BriandDom_ —and their unspoken truths that were always understood, responsibilities shared, and instincts synced, telling the world didn’t matter.

Alcohol or not, he was still in control.

Dom opted for being cool instead of aggressive. “If you wanna sign yourself up for the Rome treatment, have at it, Bri.” He shrugged. “I’m not the only one who wants to go home here and definitely not the only one trying to make good on earlier promises, but there’s always tomorrow, right? Or Sunday, maybe?” The tomorrow versus today argument always presented a fumbling string of words when the hour said morning but the dark felt like night.

The smile that preceded Brian’s response was fleeting like midnight summer showers. “Naw, keep the circle small. Two is better than many. That way the meaning doesn’t get lost in the making.” Brian was still too good at reading Dom’s mind, but it was either too late or early for Dom to be thinking such profound thoughts, so he accepted the concession for what it was.

“Then let’s go home.” Dom popped open the passenger door and stopped just shy of dipping inside. “And no tricks.”

“Just one, Dom.” Brian promised with a bigger smirk. “If you’re not smiling by the end of the ride, then I’ll owe you more than just a handjob.”

 Of course, Dom accepted the challenge. “Then start drivin’, Bri.” This was one time when he would gladly lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 8: Rita Ora's appearance in Fast 6 was uncredited, so I named her Princess Charlotte. Clever, huh?
> 
> As always, concrit is appreciated and enjoy!
> 
> Tags to be updated after the next chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy the [playlist](http://8tracks.com/aurora-cee/just-the-motion-verse). To be updated as the story progresses.


	13. twelve, pt.II (all night)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to kept mutually agreeable promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.  
> Title from The Glitch Mob's [Between Two Points](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iaisDkR8Qg).
> 
> A/N 1: The playlist is available. See the final notes for the link. 
> 
> Songs of significance in this chapter: Zayn-Pillow Talk  
> Beyoncé- All Night  
> Glass Animals- Gooey  
> Kwamie Liv ft. Angel Haze- Pleasure This Pain  
> Yuna-Lullabies
> 
> A/N 2: The second half of Chapter 12. This half is mostly smut and flirting. And smut. And flirting. And some feelings. 
> 
> A/N 3: This chapter was by far the most interesting one to write. Dom’s thoughts ride a roller coaster of emotion here. Honestly, I thought this chapter was pretty scattered as I wrote it, but after multiple reads, it feels like a fulcrum: many emotions or experiences that have been referenced in earlier chapters reappear here with forthcoming consequences. Frankly, Dom is spinning inside a storm of feeling—some good, others bad or toxic, but he’s full of emotions that he’s trying to sort into the image of who he feels he is and who is expected to be. All of which is complicated by his attraction to Brian and his inability to compartmentalize him. And, also, Lompoc. Never forget Lompoc. So, be aware that Dom will be messy for a while. 
> 
> A/N 3: Questions about slang I’ve used, please visit: [urban dictionary](http://www.urbandictionary.com/). FYI.
> 
> A/N 4: Issues with masculinity abound! There are some superficial exploration of the Masc 4 Masc versus Masc for Femme elements during Dom’s time in the club. 
> 
> A/N 5: Dom counts in Spanish, Brazilian Portugese, and Italian. That's what I call skills.

Dom would be the first person in the history of drinking Tequila to thank it for helping him to make a good decision. If the odds had been good before about getting some, now his odds were one million to one in his favor. Thanks, Jose.

Brian hadn’t lied about the outcome of the drive. His first trick has been flipping the Charger backwards and driving down the long stretch of industrial road until they could reach the one-ten. Brian’s demonstration had been…cute. When they hit the Second Street Tunnel, Brian told Dom, “Keep your eyes on me,” and kicked up the throttle. For a quarter mile plus ten seconds, Dom didn’t take his eyes off Brian and Brian didn’t blink as they drove through the artificial light. Reaching Hill Street broke the trance, and set the tone for the rest of the drive. The song pouring out of the speakers oozed slow and shimmering.

The empty driveway was the best outcome Dom could’ve hoped for. “Give me a sec,” he said to Brian, then hopped out of the Charger to open the garage doors.

Everything was dark and respectfully quiet for a midway to dawn hour. As Brian drove into the garage, Dom mentally scrolled through his mental map of where everyone was. He couldn’t be sure if this was by design or good fortune; either way, Dom looked at the situation as an opportunity.

Leon was with Sophie, of course, and the yellow GT-R wouldn’t make an appearance until late tomorrow afternoon, maybe even, tomorrow night, if Leon and Sophie were really feeling each other. Mia was in battle mode studying for the end of the semester and had assembled her study group, comprising Tej, Ramsey, and Jesse to conquer the challenge. Letty was spending the weekend with her Ma and Tias, giving them the chance to fawn over her and give her shit for not being settled down yet and still holding tight jeans and wifebeaters as her high standard of fashion. As for Vince? He might’ve gone back to Club Fury to test his luck with the hostess, Rosa. He wished Vince all the luck with that one.

He waited for Brian by the old backyard table, eyes pointed up, gazing at the real stars of L.A. Dom liked looking at the stars with the same eye as the open road. He’d leave the logistics of lightyears and gaseous bodies to Mia and Jesse, but the infinite possibilities like miles to be travels had always appealed to Dom.

 Behind him, the garage doors closed with the soft swish of old wood and until he heard Brian’s light tread stop at his shoulder.

Dom continued looking upwards, tracking the brightest points of light. “Hate to break it to you but we’ve got the run of the house tonight.” They said being up in the mountains was the only way to guarantee a view this good. No, they just needed enough dark and quiet to make it worthwhile.

Grinning at the sky, Brian said, “So we can play loud music and eat all the ice cream without worrying about sharing? Nice.”

 “Exactly.” Dom agreed with a midnight bright grin. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get you some of that ice cream.”

After climbing the short series of steps leading into the kitchen, Dom passed inside so that he could continue through the house, flipping switches to bleed out the dark. His Mami taught Mia and him that walking in the dark was only to the advantage of the person waiting in the dark to get you.

He passed through the living room through the dining room and back into the kitchen, giving the rooms an approving inspection. Brian remained by the counter near the sink, back pressed against the edge, watching Dom patiently as he made his circuit of the house.

“You’ve gotta be hungry. What can I get you?”

“I remember promises of ice cream. But water is just as good.”  

 Dom pulled a cold bottle of water from the fridge and handed it over to Brian. “I don’t think anyone in the history of the world has ever made that claim.”

Brian took a big swallow. “After a night like this, water is worth more than gold, and then--” after another swallow, he added, “ice cream comes in a distant second.”

Brian had downed three-quarters of the bottle before he tipped it towards Dom in silent offering. “I could make you something,” Offered Dom, who took the bottle back. “That doesn’t include ice cream.” Then finished off the bottle.

“It’s too early for cooking.” Brian reclined against the counter, long body going loose for the first time that night, and his wide-legged stance invited Dom to enter his sphere of space.

Taking his eye off the ball would mean that Dom would drop the bottle in the trash without looking—he had tricks of his own—then slide between Brian’s feet and slot his arms around Brian’s to bracket him in; maybe, tip his hips upward until Brian shifted his hips and started to climb the countertop until he was positioned securely to slide his legs around Dom’s hips.

But Dom’s Mami would’ve been ashamed of him if he let Brian go hungry for a minute longer. He eased back, smoothly backwards walking to the fridge. “Strawberry or the vanilla-cinnamon peanut butter crunch swirl…aka some bullshit that V travels to a Whole Foods in Beverly Hills to get and gets mistaken for a dude in about six different bands that broke up about five years ago to buy.”

Brian dug out a couple of spoons. “If it’s good enough to make Vince to fight the granola-eating masses, then it’s good enough for me.”

Dom handed over the pint made of recycled material, probably, which Brian accepted and in return, offered him a spoon.  Dom declined the offer. The ghost of Tito Gordito had been satisfied by the offerings at the buffet, even though Vince’s stash was worth cheating for.

Brian took off the lid to reveal a smooth top that was undisturbed before Brian drew his spoon through it, accumulating a spoonful large enough to sit on top of a cone. He hesitated before taking a lick. “I’m trusting you not to set me up for a punch in the throat from Vince if—no, when he finds out that someone’s gotten into his stash.”

Brian extended the spoon, offering Dom the first lick of the gigantic scoop. The steel behind Brian’s grip told Dom that there was no backing down from taking a lick, which Dom did while holding Brian’s gaze. Just one lick: strong and sweeping, not shy at all, taking in every ounce of flavor until he’d covered the entire curve of the ice cream mound with his lips were meeting the slow drip creeping towards Brian’s fingers. He let his tongue skirt the ridge of Brian’s cuticle before drawing back.

Dom wiped at his mouth after swallowing his mouthful. “This is a _No Snitching_ household, so I wouldn’t worry about that punch coming for the ice cream. You keep charming Vince the way you do and you’ll have plenty of reasons to punch each other.”

Brian took back the spoon and finished it off while Dom tracked every second, every curve of Brian’s pink tongue over the white cream until he was down to the silver with just a flash teeth before he sucked it in, savoring the rest.

“Glad to know you’ve got my back.”

Dom’s eyes pointedly watched Brian’s mouth from the flush of his lips down the long line of his body to his well-worn Chucks. “Got your front, too.”

The ice cream ended up back in his hands, now that Brian had his fill and had started the water in the sink to clean up his minimal mess. Knowing better than to stop him, Dom put away the ice cream and waited for the next move.

When Brian turned the water off, he said over his shoulder, “So I need a shower but I left my stuff in the car.”

Dom nodded patiently. “You can get started on the first while I work on the second part of that problem.”

“Sure.” Brian passed Dom to exit the kitchen. He knew where to go. So Dom flipped the light switch and followed him through the living room and up the stairs.

After passing through Dom’s bedroom doorway, Brian veered left towards the bathroom while Dom went right to the drawers along the broad wall of the room. Bless the Fairy of Good Housekeeping or, maybe, just his sister, because after Brian’s first time over, stuff just appeared inside Dom’s drawers and the bathroom. Things such as extra towels, a toothbrush, a pack of t-shirts and underwear that were definitely smaller than Dom’s usual size.

He pulled out a pair of black boxer-briefs and a white shirt then closed the drawers as the shower turned on. He might’ve quickened his steps to get to the bathroom where Brian had already dropped his shirt on the floor and had popped the fly on his jeans.

Dom set the clothes beside the sink. “The second part is done.” Brian had lost his socks and shoes before entering the bathroom, so everything else removed got closer to the main event.

Brian nodded, “Thanks.” Then he was down to the skin and Dom was memorizing every inch of California tan. He admired Brian’s ability to be bare, to be so self-aware and comfortable in his skin. Whether in front of a crowd or alone with Dom, he never tried to be someone other than himself. Who that was, Dom was unraveling.  

Not for the first time, Dom felt like he was bewitched. That looking at Brian put him under a spell that he had no compulsion to fight. The voice that said Brian was not what or who he should want was always drowned out by his pulse that raged from the sight of him.

The shower curtain rolled back and a cloud of steam came towards them. “You coming in or not? I’m off the clock, so I’m not offering another peep show.” Brian’s smile was visible in the mirror. “If you want a raincheck on—” he imitated a particular promise with a couple of jerks of his wrist, “then I’m cool with that.” Not waiting for Dom to answer, Brian stepped inside, sliding the curtain back behind him, thus putting a pause on Dom’s view.

Dom bit back his slick reply of _Isn’t your whole life a peep show?,_ instead he cut a smirk in Brian’s direction and scratched the side of his face lazily.

After a beat, Dom said, “Yeah,” still a little hypnotized by the blurred outline of Brian’s movement through the shower curtain.

Thank the gods of hot water and big bathrooms. He let Brian get fully wet. The words in his thoughts repeating themselves in a sticky circle: _fully wet, fully wet, wet, wet, wet_. That head start he gave Brian diminished as soon as he stripped down to the quick, save for his cross, and peeled back the curtain to receive a hot blast of steam to the face and a panoramic view of Brian wet from head to toe.

More stuff that had mysteriously shown up in his bathroom: shampoo and conditioner. Watching Brian start the process of washing his hair made Dom temporarily envious. That was until Brian hissed like an angry cat because the shampoo got into his eyes.

Dom grabbed Brian’s shoulders to steer him under the water. “C’mere and keep your eyes closed.”

Brian was quiet for ten seconds—fifteen, if Dom was being generous, as Dom rubbed his hands over Brian’s wet mop of hair. “You’re good at this. When was the last time you had hair?”

“Around the same time you started thinking that sarcasm was a sincere form of flattery.”

After Dom sloughed off a thick handful of suds, Brian snorted out water, then replied, “So, you’re sayin’ I won’t find out that you moonlight as the world’s greatest head masseuse?”

“I could always stop, Mr. Smartass.” Dom flicked the cuff of Brian’s ear. How he got saddled with so many smartasses, Dom didn’t know.

Brian stopped Dom’s hand from making another sweep. Instead, he towed Dom underneath the spray until Dom had enough and shifted the balance back to before.

Between the steam and the fresh spiciness of the soap, Dom’s senses were wide open. Now sober enough to have one train of thought on his mind. Under the spray, Brian turned towards him.  “I think I’m clean enough. You?”

The signal Dom had been waiting for. “Couldn’t be cleaner if I tried.” A night of sweat, liquor, and too many hands reaching out from the darkness swirled down the drain, breaking the seal on the pause placed between them.

When Dom put his hands on Brian’s skin and started the long run south, he knew he would take his time. Get greedy with the experience and savor every second of Brian in this new light. When he got his hands on Brian’s hips and started curving his hands around and down, working into the hearty flesh that Brian hid away in baggy jeans but brought out to get paid but only allowed Dom’s hands to fully inspect; he took his time, savoring the opportunity.

Yeah, this was when he knew they were definitely going to fuck: suck jobs and handies might happen somewhere along the timeline, but first and foremost, they were going to fuck.

Brian took charge now, licking at Dom’s lips, tongue curling over the ridges taking in the lingering taste of Tequila on Dom’s mouth. A fat lip was good to suck and Dom was happy to let Brian go at it as long as he liked.

Another one of those things about them that proved how they worked so well: they didn’t have to talk about this. Dom could tell by the look in Brian’s eyes when Dom pulled back from the kiss, the moment that Dom began kneading his ass in a time-sacred pattern that Brian was down for it. He pressed his hips deeper into Dom but arched his back just so that Dom could get a better hold. That first time Brian said he liked stick and automatic; that stick was just more fun, and with Dom, he never asked for anything else, never wavered to his devotion to stick, or Dom’s adaptability to handling him.

Dom knew that the shower gel wasn’t the right thing to use but he needed something to slick the way. First one finger, two, and then a third. Dom’s fingers were big and thick and Brian took them like a champ with just a little work, just like the rest of him. Brian might have had him with length, but Dom had the girth. He had the makings of a batter ram when fully ready to go.

The hot water gave them a brief warning that it had reached its limits, sending a spray of ice down over them, breaking up the kiss like a wet crowbar.  “I’d rather do this warm and dry and without the possibility of slipping and busting my ass in the shower.” Brian let him go.

Holding the curtain back, Dom let Brian out first then took care of the water. “I’d catch you, Bri. Laugh first but I’d catch you.”

“Good to know, Dom.” Brian wrapped one of the towels around his waist and took the stack of clothes off the counter, then left Dom in the privacy of the bathroom.

As soon as Dom stepped out of the shower, he had second thoughts about the clothes he gave Brian, because logistically, clothes would only slow them down.  Thinking about Superman for a second, Dom found a burst of super-speed to get his boxers on in order to join Brian in his room.

Brian snapped the band of the boxer-briefs against his thigh. “If these are snug on me, then they must be a torture device on you.”

The pair of boxer-briefs Dom gave Brian hadn’t come from a new pack, but rather had been victims of an unfortunate accident. “Yeah, Jesse might have gotten distracted when he was doing laundry one time and that’s--”he gestured at Brian’s situation which would have led to so many tips, he would’ve gotten papercuts, “the result.”

The super-speed wasn’t isolated to Dom, apparently Brian had gotten partially dressed but stopped long enough to borrow Dom’s charger for his phone and started one of his many playlists. He stood beside the big dresser that had once belonged to Dom’s parents, scrolling through until he was satisfied with the musical lineup.

Seeing him right there created a perfect storm of ideas. Dom snagged a pair of fingers inside the band of the boxer-briefs, then pulled Brian back to his chest. “I don’t want you to suffer so I’m gonna help you out.”

Brian wrapped an arm around the small of Dom’s back and pressed him closer. “Please,” his answer to Dom’s offer.

Dom stepped back and widened his grip on Brian’s hips to turn him around to face him, then reversed him into the wall. Toe to toe, chest to chest, so close that their breaths started to sync to the same airy staccato. Still so perfectly together, Dom could dip low, just enough to cause a reflexive widening of Brian’s stance, and when Dom dropped his hands, skirting over the hot muscles in Brian’s back, hips, and finally down to the back of his thighs. At just the suggestion of force, Brian lifted up, shifted his momentum, allowing Dom to have him between the wall and his body.

Each had a kink. Brian’s being only somewhat obvious. He liked when Dom carelessly flexed his strength because who wouldn’t? Then he liked when Dom smiled at him with full teeth, all pearly and happy. So freaking cute, it made him get a little red in the face. While Dom liked when Brian was still and allowed him to explore—unwrap with rarely slow and unsure fingers; each second, each inch better than the last. He also had a thing for Brian’s legs, enjoyed that he was just the slightest bit bowlegged which signaled in his mind that they were meant to fit this way, with Brian’s legs thrown over Dom’s hips riding high so he could slide in deep.

They were a perfect pair: long legs and big muscles. So Dom could make the short trip to the bed with Brian wrapped around him without straining and Brian’s arms knotted around his shoulders didn’t offer any give until his back was on the mattress and an less than an inch remained between their lips.

Brian licked his lips as he stared up at Dom. “You’ve wanted to do that for a while.” Just an honest statement of fact.

“Just like you wanted me to.” His voice all thunderous bass that roved over the hollows of Brian’s skin.  “I’ve made a promise that I’ve gotta keep.” He teased at Brian’s mouth, kissed lazily until he was back to a sixty percent towards full action and Brian was just the same.

Then he drew back and crawled down the length of Brian’s legs until he was staring up at Brian from the bottom of the bed.  “Gotta start here.” Dom began by gripping the outside of Brian’s knees until he pulled them apart then kissed the hard line of Brian’s inner thigh, then followed the shallow line leading up to his hip with his tongue until he reached the point of his hip and dropped the final kiss there. “Uno, dos, tres…” He did the opposite side.

The playfulness kicked up when he got to Brian’s navel. His lips dragged over the rim and his tongue followed the dip. “…quarto…” Going up meant facing the two points that needed to be under his lips, in his mouth, and wet by his tongue.

Nipples were nipples. Just the right balance of suck and sharp was required to get them going. At this, Dom considered himself a master of finesse. “Cinco, seis...” Maybe he was a tit man after all.

It was a straight line up from there. A brush of lips over his heart, “Sete,” the hollow of his throat, “oito,”, and the center of his throat, “nove.”

When he reached Brian’s mouth, Dom hovered over his lips and breathed, “Ten”.

Slow, the kiss started. Slow like rivers of wax down the side of a lit candle; picking up pressure and speed like an engine cruising from the flats to a fifteen plus incline, winding up higher and higher into the clifftops.

He drew it out like this: his lips running the pale edge of Brian’s, going in close to lock, drawing away with heady mix of heat and breathlessness forced them to part—a couple of centimeters, two inches max, but then he was back to taste those short curls of Brian’s tongue, only retreating to breathe; their foreheads touching as they caught up together.

This was him trying to establish even ground. He wanted to show Brian that feeling good was a two-way street with them. He could make Brian feel just as much by putting his mouth and hands, definitely his hands, to better use.

Poetry, though. Dom hadn’t had to think about poetry since being forced to learn a few limericks in elementary school. But now? He wanted to write sonnets and shit as he watched Brian move under him.

Dom had the shorts peeled down Brian’s back first, snagged in front by the hard line of Brian’s dick that was seventy-five percent to final go. He raked his fingers over the exposed skin at Brian’s sides, his back, and his ass. Let his fingers dig deeper when Brian pressed up and swam his fingers into the wide valleys of Dom’s muscles.

Generating enough lower leverage to get Dom listing towards the sheets, Brian used the maneuver to get free of the shorts and extend the invitation for Dom to get deeper. What Brian was after, Dom skirted around by giving his cock fleeting touches without tightening his fingers into a solid grip.

Brian nipped at Dom’s neck, then sank his teeth into Dom’s hefty trap, deep enough to get an irritated reaction as Dom pulled back and surged back and up, causing Brian’s breath to stutter.  But Brian wasn’t deterred; he wanted more and the black drowning the blue in his eyes demanded that he get more. “You’re kinda vanilla. Inhibited almost which is unexpected.” He chided Dom as he curled his arms under Dom’s arms so he could get a better grip on his shoulders.

Dom scowled at him from the spot he’d been working on at the base of Brian’s neck. “I’m not.”  Dom was so offended by that vanilla comment. “If I’m vanilla, then you most certainly better not be chocolate or else, Imma have to kick you outta my bed.”

“Of course not.” Then Brian smiled. “I’m vanilla-cinnamon peanut butter swirl. Duh.”

_So it was like that?_ Of course, Dom had an answer to Brian’s tease. Dom wanted to go to work, so he reached up and crawled over Brian to snag a pillow. If he wanted he could stop here where they were chest to chest, hip to hip, and perfectly slotted together. But, no, that little grin on Brian’s face needed to melt.

His hands were wide enough to palm Brian’s hips and a healthy portion of his ass. “I’ll show you vanilla. Lie back and open up." Gauntlet thrown and the challenge accepted. Santa Maria, he was gonna put his mouth wear?

"Dom---" Brian tried to caution him.

He bit the inside of Brian's thigh playfully. "I got this."

There were some facts that were immutable: Dom missed pussy. The internet said a whole hell of a lot about the equivalent between dudes, and maybe, he wanted to show Brian that he wasn't only gifted with his hands and reflexes but also was good with his tongue.

But he thought about the shower again. The water, his fingers, how he’d taken care of Brian then…how he prepared for this without actively thinking about it other than the stray admission that he missed eating pussy. Then he hefted Brian’s hips and shoved the pillow down underneath the small of his back then went down. Just two breaths before he went all in—got to work making Brian wet and in the process lose his damn mind.

“Jesus, oh my god, oh…oh…holy---Dom, Dom, Dom…” Yeah, say his name and it ain’t Mr. Vanilla.

Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde getting Brian good and ready and absolutely wet made him go from Mr. O’Conner to Brother Rome, the Motormouth. Loose and wet were the words spelled out as Dom’s tongue worked him, just in case his intent was lost on Brian’s steady stream of babble.

Dom knew the power of those thighs, but around his head—when he curled his tongue just _so_ —made them clamp down and box his ears. A little ringing in there never hurt anybody, especially not when Brian rocked back into him like this. Dom buried his smile in the valley of Brian’s thighs and let the ghost of a laugh tickle his skin before diving back into Brian.

Brian was hard, leaking all over Dom’s hand, but not quite sloppy yet. No, he would get him good and sloppy only after he was inside again. So after Brian loosened a little more under his tongue, Dom pulled back. “Timeout.”

Dom needed toothpaste and mouthwash before he kept going. Quick and clean were the only things that mattered in this narrow strip of space and time, because he couldn’t actually see Brian from his spot in the bathroom, but his imagination didn’t have far to go in order to dream up a multitude of ways that he’d find Brian when he got back to his bed.

He was not proud of the penguin shuffle he made to the bathroom but it was necessary. His dick was so hard, he was damned sure its state could’ve been considered a real goddamn medical emergency.

When Dom came back to the bed, Brian was half sprawled across his front waiting for Dom, looking like the catalyst that would cause his knuckles to stay bloody.  

Brian’s voice was raspy like he’d overused it or put his mouth towards finishing off bigger objectives. He reached out for Dom and pulled him down to the bed without resistance. Allowed himself to be caged in by Dom’s bulk until he got Dom settled where he wanted him. “It’s weird to ask me if I want the ‘D’ when you’re also called ‘D’.” Brian’s busy hands worked Dom’s boxers down below his hips until Dom kicked them off.

Dom offered Brian two fingers and watched with heavy eyes as Brian got them wet. “You want me, all you gotta do is ask.” His two fingers were solely for Brian. Already wet, Dom was just giving himself more room to play and Brian more teasing to get him going. “Ask me, Bri, ask me…” _For what you want. What you need._

Still so stubborn, Brian churned his hips against Dom, brushing their cocks together at every chance, then pressing his ass deeper into Dom’s hold. Brian stifled a gasp. “If I have to ask to be handled, then you’re not doing it right. Show me what you’ve got.” His voice whisky rough like he’d been the one taking shots for most of the night. “I’m ready.” He said into a biting kiss.

Dom tasted the corner of his lip expecting blood to follow the sting. When none followed, he renewed his dedication to his hands’ slow and steady campaign to get Brian to beg for him. But Brian just bit his lip each time Dom hit that spot that made him flush bright. Brian rolled his hips against Dom’s, streaking Dom’s stomach with each pass, getting him wet and filthy.

Brian was too close and Dom was one hundred and ten percent hard and the only thing he wanted was to be inside Brian, buried to the hilt with Brian’s legs locked up around him.

So after he pulled his fingers out, Dom followed the path of seven, eight, and nine until they were kissing again and their bodies were realigning for maximum contact, his dick brushing against Brian’s ass with every roll of his hips. “You’ll let me come inside?” Dom asked with his arm half-extended towards the small stack of condoms and lube in reserve beside his bed. Gold wrappers winking at him under the glow of the bedside lamp.

Brian shifted lower to drop his hips to give himself more room to stretch and Dom a better angle but he remained quiet in the face of Dom’s question. He absolutely knew how Dom felt about the situation, and that same feeling could be applied to him as well. “Only if you admit that I can beat you and lose graciously the next time we race.”

_Yeah, no_. He reached for one small packet, all the while shaking his head.

“So that’s a no then?” Brian asked. “Way to set the bar, Dom.”

Dom ripped the corner of the packet with his teeth and blow away the stray end. “It’s not a ‘no’, just a promise not to make me lie to you.”

Between kissing they fought as Brian tried to remain on his front while Dom wanted him on his back with his legs back up over his hips.

They hadn’t talked about this, just sorted themselves out to get what they liked.

Watching himself go in was everything. The fact that Brian let him in like this, let him go so deep meant everything. He was trying to drive his thrusts in smooth strokes, but Brian was tightening down on him. Fuck, how was he still so tight and so good?

So goddamn good.

Despite how good it felt, he wasn’t ready, but if he kept going –like this, now slow and down like that, turning up the stroke of his hand on Brian with a few more ounces of pressure. Then he wouldn’t be alone when he let the dam bust wide open, leaving them mutually exhausted and spent.

Being with Brian. On him. In him. Whatever. Dom didn’t want to put a label on it. In fact as he moved on top of Brian, clutching at his hips, he wanted to lean down close to Brian’s ear, whisper his claim again, and feel the bruises on his back when Brian accepted it. Not for a show of stroking his ego. Just a statement of fact.

No, the promises in the smoky dark had to be realized right here. Those higher brain functions were taking a seat, letting the reflexive drive of his hips and his dick do the work. For every sound that escaped from Brian, Dom caught them with his mouth, silencing the noise until the only sound that remained was the counterpoint inflections created by skin on skin.

Brian palmed the back of his head, locking his knees up tight against Dom, trying to ride him from his back. He gasped, “Harder, Dom…faster,” when Dom churned his hips deeper into him, slow and filthy but hitting the spot just right. Hitting it so good that Dom would have battle scars. Hitting it so good that the next kiss drew blood.

Dom found his voice going low into a sonorous rumble. “Bri…Bri…Bri.” Brian’s name became a chant on his lips; a prayer to make this feeling last forever. “Hold on,” he offered as the only warning that Brian would get.

Another quarter-mile to the finish, Dom dropped his head, mouth never straying from Brian’s and hooked his hands under Brian’s ass to get him ready, set, and wide enough for Dom to let go, and he did: the passage of one song became two became more while Dom got deeper and Brian surrounded him everywhere else. Without ending or beginning until Brian wrapped Dom’s hand around him and squeezed down as Dom started to jerk him from fast to faster. Dom kept up his pace like he had NOS burning inside his veins, driving him harder and faster until he got Brian to the edge and banked his hips just _so_ and tightened his grip from base to tip once, twice, until Brian returned the favor of making him wet. 

 Brian pulled him closer, his grip not offering any surrender until he muttered, “Let go.” Then Dom showed him how to cross the finish line.

* * *

Too close to dawn, they were still awake, although sweaty and tired. Dom stared up at the ceiling, one arm draped behind his head while his free hand worked his jaw.

On his stomach, Brian turned to Dom, grabbed his chin and watched the path of Dom’s tongue across his swollen lips. “Which hurts more: your jaw or your lip?” Asked Brian who stretched his back like a luxuriating cat, the bow growing deeper as he pushed up on his elbows.

Dom tangled his fingers with Brian’s at the point of his chin. “My lip you bit--” when he came so hard, he had freight trains rolling between his ears, “and my jaw’s just tired. I haven’t run my mouth like that in a while.”

“So which is worse?”

The cocky look Dom threw Brian was accompanied by an amused grin. “Well, which did you like the most?”

Brian flicked Dom’s chin playfully. “That’s a terrible question, Dom. It’s like asking which you like better: sunrise or sunset--”

“That good?” Dom interjected.

“Yeah, when you show off like that I would hope so. Any way you look at it, I’ll feel like an asshole cuz I’m already wonderin’ when you’ll be ready to do it again.”

“I told you that you couldn’t touch my skills. Premmo talent, right here.”

Brian might have punched Dom in the shoulder for that little remark, but Dom rolled into the motion and the blow landed like another kiss, soft and teasing. “Keep impressing me with your talent and you’ll regret it.”

Dom smirked, then chuckled. “What can I say? Mia ain’t the only one that’s gifted.” Which earned him a hit with a pillow this time, followed by a round of shared laughter.

Brian reclaimed the thrown pillow and secured it under his chest, knotting his arms under it before turning back to Dom. “I’ll be honest I couldn’t have pictured this is where we’d end up when I met you a couple of months ago. Wouldn’t’ve placed money that this woulda been the outcome of Leon not reading the fine print.”

A couple of options existed in the moment: brushing off what Brian said with a smartass remark, ignoring him and answering with silence, or lastly, dropping some truth. Because Dom could admit that Brian was right: ending up here wasn’t what he pictured either, and he remained _cool with it_ when he didn’t go turning the corner on his thoughts and looking too deeply. Just stick with the basic motto: _if it feels good, do it. If it looks good, watch it. If fucks good, then don’t stop._ Dom could do all of the above without stressing himself out or breaking a sweat.

“You and me both.” Dom finally said. “But it’s good.” Another statement that left room for Brian to co-sign as fact.

“I’m the last person you’d catch complain’.” Brian brushed his face against the pillow, a brief effort to fight the quick tide of sleep coming. “Just surprised me is all…I get how you drive—it’s just an issue of anticipation. But this? You keep pulling new shit out of your bag of tricks.”

“You almost mistake that thing that I’m assuming you’re trying to name as spontaneity as a bad thing.”

Shaking his head, Brian disagreed, “Not at all. Dom, I’m always up for your surprises. You’ve got my word on that. It’s just shock, surprise, or whatever when you do something new. I can’t box you in and I like that.”

Compliments Dom could take easily but his curiosity wanted to know what Brian previous thought. “Alright, give me specifics.”

“Hey, don’t take this as a critique of your performance.” Brian conceded.

“I’m most definitely not. I remember someone telling me my dick was amazing, so I’m not concerned with improvement, cuz greatness can’t be surpassed.”

Brian’s shoulders shook and his head dropped as the laughter poured out of him. Dom returned the love tap on the shoulder and gave him a small shove to start talking. “Yeah, your dick is a real class act, but you’re lucky I’m kinda running on fumes here, otherwise you and your dick would get a different type of stroking.”

“Next time. But I’m still waiting on those answers.”

Brian rolled his eyes as he exhaled hard.  He retreated into his thoughts for a second. “Got it. Well, it’s, like, you can’t go if you can’t keep your eyes on me.  I was worried about false starts because you didn’t seem _ready_.”

_Didn’t seem ready?_ That was a goddamn lie if Dom ever heard one. “I’m ready when it counts.”

“Sure, I know that _now_. But you’re still pretty rigid about some stuff. Dom, just wanna let you know that you’re missing out on the oldie, goldies—face down, ass up; there’s a reason that there are tons of songs dedicated to that.”

Dom’s jaw flared. Anger starting to simmer on top of the energy drag. “Enough. I like what I like.” Brian liked adventures in bed. Hadn’t Dom given him that? There were somethings that Dom didn’t want to think about or see—in his mind or in reality. Some things wouldn’t make him any better than the wondering hands in the dark trying to get a piece of Brian to own him.

Brian nodded slow and carefully. “This have anything to do with Lompoc?” He waited. “Anybody…mess with you?”

“No one punked me.” Too much bark in his voice. Not denial, just anger. “I didn’t punk anyone either.”

“Just a legit question. No offense meant.”

Dom sat up with his arms draped over his knees. Logic said he could ask the same thing, because he knew there was no way in hell that Brian came out of two years of juvie untouched. The likelihood that he was right nonetheless burned sour in Dom’s gut. Tapping into that well of rage that was never fully at rest was easier to provoke when given the right motivation, and Brian was most definitely the motivation behind many of Dom’s current actions.

As if reading a play by play of Dom’s thoughts, Brian dropped the bow in his back by flattening his chest against the mattress, then looked from Dom to some distant point and back again and muttered, “The look on your face says you’re thinking so hard that your eyebrows could turn coal into diamonds.” Brian sassed, good-naturedly but Dom didn’t take the bait. His jaw ticked as his teeth clenched tighter. Brian’s sighed, “You grow up in the school of hard knocks, you learn fast to toughen up and keep going, cuz otherwise you fall too many times and nobody’s comin’ to get you up.” Then Brian rolled his neck, snapping the cords of tension. “Let’s cut out the maudlin shit, so how about I ask you some questions.”

“Sure.”

“So…” Brian paused then grinned from ear to ear. “So, you and hair? You give good head--” Dom snorted. “—I mean, head massages. The world wants to know what you look like with it?

“I just told you that you could ask me anything and you, smartass, said ‘what do you look like with hair?’”

“Yeah.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Curious minds wanna know, Dom.”

“I think you need to go to sleep. Sleep deprivation is obviously doing shitty things to your brain.”

“I’m firing on all cylinders.”

“Then it’s hunger then that’s making your mouth run. And the answer to _do you want something to eat_ better not be tuna since I’m gonna sleep next to you and don’t wanna wake up thinking I sleepwalked to the pier.”

“So dramatic, Dom, and no, I don’t want anything other than sleep right now.” Brian pulled up the covers. “Also, there’s nothing wrong with tuna.”

Dom disagreed with a slow shake. “Gotta get you some culture.” He muttered.

“Excuse me, haven’t you heard I’m All-American, Dom. It’s all the culture I need.”

“Not enough, Bullitt. I’ll take you to the Boulevard to see some real cruising and get you a history lesson.”

“You think I haven’t already?”

“Not with me you haven’t.”

Dom’s arm was slung loosely over Brian’s hip with his fingers gently curling and relaxing over soft skin overlying hard muscle.

He was deep in his feelings—so fucking deep like the Marianas Trench and falling faster and farther than he’d ever gone before, yet he wasn’t ready to tap the breaks. If anything, he was ready for the crash.

Brian settled down first, going for that burrito extra stuffed and tightly wrapped position. When he settled, Dom eased in beside him, aligning his chest with Brian’s side. They remained quiet, sinking closer and closer to sleep. Brian watched him from under one heavy-lidded eye. Blue iris burning bright against the backdrop of a pink sea of fatigue. Dom reached out for Brian’s face and followed the contours of his cheek as if he could rub away the fatigue. He hooked his thumb under the angle of Brian’s jaw and continued a slow sweep across the bone and down to the fluttering of his pulse.

Dom continued on as he watched Brian grow closer to sleep. This was new. Not just what Brian claimed of him. All of it was new. He’d never reached out for anyone else in his bed like this. Dom was struck by a revelation as he continued touching Brian’s face, a gesture so gentle, it would’ve been more appropriate to call it a caress but even in his head, he wasn’t that soft. Here, Dom was south of thirty and in the shadows feeling like his life—his shit—was finally together.

It was cliché as hell but the realization of what was going on inside Dom needed to be said.

“I love you.” He was totally, stupidly, crazy in love with Brian. He had to say it and not only because he’d come so hard that he could be declared legally blind and deaf after the fact.

Brian braided his arms over Dom’s shoulders and surged up until Dom tipped over onto his back. He tightened his hold as he spread out straddling Dom’s lap, kissing Dom like there was only one more breath left in the entire world and they had to share it as long as possible.

From hard and intense, their kissing downshifted to slow and lingering—almost sticky with slow release.

“You don’t have to say it back.” Dom said when he finally got a breath. “You can’t make someone love you and I won’t do that to you.” It would hurt too much if he tried and failed.

With Brian’s lips millimeters from his, he could feel the grin radiating above his lips. “You’re still not listening, Dom.” Brian laughed, brushing their lips together in a quick catch and release. “I’ve been waiting for you to catch up. Love--” He was cut off by Dom showing him that he was not slow in any sense of the word.

“You can’t make someone else love you.”  Dom repeated.

“I know.” Brian looked him in the eye. “How does it feel to be the slow one for once? Kinda fun, huh?”

* * *

 

It was so late that it was almost early again. So late that he could see the sun starting to peak through the window. Dom dozed off and on, somehow resistant to the pull of sleep unlike Brian who was partially buried under a couple of pillows and tangled inside the plush comforter. Despite being asleep, he managed to keep Dom secured in his wake, each minor shift of his body drifting Dom proportionately nearer.

Dom would be useless when the heart of the day rolled around, yawning and walking around with his head stuck in two different places: reality versus the constant loop of sensation that had left him wrung out and spent. Just a shuddering flicker of memory had him like a heating coil on the brink of sizzling.

Another thought slid through, and, yeah, Dom would gladly resign himself to being absolutely useless tomorrow.

There were two things in this life that Dom was immune to: one was going too slow and the other was suffering from whiskey dick. Or, was it tequila dick? Either wasn’t an issue for him, and as he let his eyes roam over the lightly snoring lump that was Brian, and he considered the possibilities of what they could do when he was all the way sober.

Dom blinked hard, sleep pulling at him, and tried to resist. Letting the big head resume thinking for him, he remembered the previous text ping from Leon. He swiped his thumb over the screen to unlock his messages. Leave it to Leon to be succinct and on point as usual, so Dom answered back, following Leon’s lead with a short and sweet response.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35652025012/in/dateposted-public/) [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35011356403/in/dateposted-public/)

Dom cracked a small grin, thinking to himself about how he had to get back at Brian for that little _prissy_ comment. He could run through a whole list of ways to show Brian how he was wrong.

His plans for revenge petered out as a low buzzing started from his left. Shifting over, Dom eyed the illuminated face of Brian’s cell. The screen flashed _Unknown Number_ again, this time slightly skittering across the bedside table. He twisted his head to see that Brian was still asleep and knew that he had two options in front of him: answer the phone or turn it off.

Curiosity was in Dom’s nature. All things related to Brian fed his curiosity and he couldn’t get enough of the tidbits that helped him create a vision of who Brian was.

Dom told Brian he was all in, and all in meant stepping up the day Tanner dropped in. It meant not letting Mama Pearce be right about him. It meant that Dom was ready for whatever came next with Brian since the decision was made as soon as his hand reached for the phone.

The lock screen code Dom picked through careful observation. There should've been hesitation, he supposed. An instinct that told him to hold back and give this action some thought. Sure, he’d answered Letty’s phone a few times—always with her permission—but Brian was dead to the world and from the sound of his snores, permission wasn’t coming anytime soon; so that left Dom with this dilemma.  

The pro voice argued with logic like emergencies at the house, Rome being Rome, Harry calling to give him the day off, or the club closing for the day. All valid reasons for Dom to swipe his thumb over the screen to answer the call.

There was no offer of hello to the caller. Just silence.   

Until the caller said, “Hello, it’s me.” A man’s voice—cool and cocky—oddly familiar to Dom. Without waiting for a reply, Mr. Unknown Number went on, “You’ve had your fun. It’s time to come home.”

So with the message received, the call ended, leaving Dom with an illuminated phone and a mind full of questions. Mr. Unknown Number wasn’t finished apparently as the text alert pinged in Dom’s hand.

The first line of the text galvanized him to read its entirety. Only after reading the first part did he determine if Brian was still asleep—he was but Dom wouldn’t have stopped either way. Suddenly, he thought about Letty. Remembered her dire words of consequences and payback.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/35011355523/in/dateposted-public/)

 

Was this karmic payback for his past history of misbehavior?

Was Brian playing him?

Was Brian’s history of cloak and dagger bullshit setting Dom up for a hard fall?

Already, Dom had fallen by way of his words, just spoken an hour before. The same words that Brian had returned, leaving Dom without any room to doubt their sincerity.

That good sleep he’d become used to was abandoning him tonight, leaving him to the mercy of the scattered hours that had been scarred into him by restless hours and desperate nights trapped inside of Lompoc.

The phone went back to its rightful place before Dom settled back into his pillows, finding little comfort there. He wanted to sleep and hoped that when he did that he would find answers or a reality where he never swiped right.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I used Dom's line to Letty in Fast 7. The line fit perfectly with where Dom's headspace is. He's conflicted but only sure of how he feels for Brian. Because Brian is still this big unknown to him, he can't anticipate whether Brian is just as twisted up as he is.
> 
> Complete English and Spanish verses of the Pablo Neruda's [Poem 15](http://spanishpoems.blogspot.com/2005/02/pablo-neruda-poema-15-me-gustas-cuando.html).
> 
> As always, concrit is appreciated and enjoy!
> 
> Tags to be updated in the next chapter since certain characters have decided to make an appearance in the story.
> 
> Enjoy the [playlist](http://8tracks.com/aurora-cee/just-the-motion-verse). To be updated as the story progresses.


	14. thirteen, pt. I ( In control)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race Wars has arrived. Dom's thoughts are occupied by many forms of competition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.
> 
> Title from The Glitch Mob's [Between Two Points](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iaisDkR8Qg).
> 
> A/N 1: Music is very important in this chapter. I’ve embedded links to the songs on YouTube where they appear in the fic. I highly recommend giving these songs a listen when they’re referenced. Eventually, I’ll have a playlist compiled for the story on the series page.  
> Songs of significance in this chapter:  
> [California Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HaTgQkG3Mmc)—Dr. Dre and 2Pac  
> [California](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pYdoQ6DZ3F4)\- Colonel Loud, T.I., Young Dolph  
> [Wild Thoughts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fyaI4-5849w)\- DJ Khaled ft. Rihanna, Bryson Tiller  
> [Trophy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OSdUDEHL4sQ): Charli XCX  
> [Pursuit of Happiness](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Z_Ys3BO_4M)-Kid Cudi  
> [Crank That](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UFIYGkROII)\- Soulja Boy  
> [Move For Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8nXAj3X8UJI)-Kaskade, deadmau5  
> [Horses](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMimIZJiMp0)-PnB Rock, Kodak Black, A Boogie Wit da Hoodie  
> [All Of The Lights](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAfFfqiYLp0)\- Kanye West  
> [I'm in Control](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NSdcG1e9APE)\- Aluna George  
> [Human (Marian Hill Remix)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7jMM_yDuhS8)-Aquilo
> 
> A/N 2: This chapter was divided into 2 parts. Updated story tags will appear when I post the next chapter. **Warning: vulgar, homophobic language, gendered slurs**
> 
> A/N 3: The warning from the last chapter stands: _This chapter was by far the most interesting one to write. Dom’s thoughts ride a rollercoaster of emotion here. Honestly, I thought this chapter was pretty scattered as I wrote it, but after multiple reads, it feels like a fulcrum: many emotions or experiences that have been referenced in earlier chapters reappear here with forthcoming consequences. Frankly, Dom is spinning inside a storm of feeling—some good, others bad or toxic, but he’s full of emotions that he’s trying to sort into the image of who he feels he is and who is expected to be. All of which is complicated by his attraction to Brian and his inability to compartmentalize him. And, also, Lompoc. Never forget Lompoc. So, be aware that Dom will be messy for a while._
> 
> A/N 3: Questions about slang I’ve used, please visit urbandictionary. FYI.
> 
> A/N 4: Issues with masculinity abound! There are some superficial exploration of the Masc 4 Masc versus Masc for Femme elements. Toxic masculinity abounds!
> 
> A/N 5: If you’ve read my other works, then it’s obvious that I love a good crossover. So if you take a gander at the Just The Motion verse summary, then the inspiration for this verse is listed. The full playlist is on Spotify. 
> 
> A/N 6: Thank you for your patience and dedication to this story. To everyone who has commented on the story, I appreciate the feedback. Please don’t hesitate to drop some concrit, questions, suggestion, kudos, etc. Every communication is valuable to me. I repeat: this is massive WIP, so I understand being cautious optimism. Any encouragement is appreciated when trying something new. This fic has survived 2 years in graduate school, a new job, a move across the country, huge responsibilities, and severe depression. Thank you to everyone who has ever commented, nudged me, or gave this fic a try. 
> 
> As always, concrit is appreciated and enjoy!

Contrary to popular belief, Dom excelled at compartmentalizing.  He was a bonafide master of illusions by virtue of a few simple gestures: folding his arms over his chest, nodding his head in the silent cadence of interest, and pulling his lips tighter as if he needed to bite back his words intermittently. A skill that he’d picked up as a kid during the rambling lessons about _La_ _Patria_ , but honed to a lethal precision during too many restless hours locked away inside Lompoc.

Dom knew compartmentalizing in all its forms and through tried and true experience, the concept got warped and worn like a well-trodden path since his first encounter with it in a Word of A Day calendar. Those same mental paths were like the quarter miles he’d found himself living between, as the longer he continued to ride, the margins blurred more and more until there was only the mess left behind of his own choices.

To keep looking ahead was the only solution as it was too late to turn back now, Dom thought to himself, even as he fought the urge to look over his shoulder for invisible ghosts that his gut reckoned that he was sure to find.  

“Gotcha, ya little fucker--”Vince twisted what had to be the world’s smallest Allen wrench between his meaty fingers over a screw that stubbornly fought its way out of being secured almost to the bitter end. “You’re gonna give it up. Yeah, you are… I can feel it now…There you go, yeah, just lemme at it.” Vince’s growl morphed into an awkward tease, growing increasingly more awkward as he adlibbed his triumph over the tiny screw with mounting dirty talk, leaving Dom and Leon synchronously shaking their heads in a show of mutual no.

Dom cleared his throat to slow Vince’s steamy worded confrontation with his wrench and screw. There was no reason to hide the amused smirk quirking Dom’s full lips. “I should leave you alone. Otherwise, me and Lee are gonna have to break up this unfortunate threesome between you, the Allen Wrench, and the screw.”

 Leon extended an effusive gesture over Vince’s work area, then retorted, “Yeah, I’m happy to see that you’re getting on the open-minded train—what-what-what!—but won’t somebody please think of me or the child? Cuz V doin’ his best impersonation of a phone sex operator wasn’t on the list of things that I’d imagined putting me in an early grave.” Leon continued casually roasting Vince while the latter just gaped like a fish—a tattooed, bearded fish, but one nonetheless. “Yo, Soph’s grown fond of all’a this so if you kill me, just know she’s gonna kick your ass and she’s scary when mad. Scout’s honor.”

Staring directly into the sun might’ve not been the healthiest decision that Dom had made recently, but at least a little pain guaranteed that he wouldn’t keel over howling in laughter, easily pissing off one best friend while wrongly encouraging the other. _Well, shit, can’t have it both ways?_

“The last thing I need to hear about is your bony ass getting some, and NO, ain’t nobody been lookin’ at you. Some of us are staying inside the same lane with no drifting. Just sayin’.” Vince tacked to smooth any unintentional tactlessness.

Leon ruffled Vince’s short thick copse of hair in a surprise attack until Vince lashed out to swipe at him with the directed annoyance of removing a buzzing fly from his sight. “Don’t worry, V. We know it’s all good. If we didn’t give you shit, it wouldn’t be a day that ends in ‘y’, so we’re good, right, Dom?”

Dom bypassed the hair tossing to offer Vince a bottle of water served with a side order of mildly heated snark. “Absolutely. You did this, showing us again that the Baby Whisperer strikes again.” Dom added without continuing to verbally roast his best bud.

“Haha,” Snapped Vince who then growled an inaudible string of more than a few likely four-letter words. “I see the jealousy for what it is since you had to fall back and everything. Just couldn’t find the stuff when it matters.” Vince shrugged. “So you let someone who get at it…”

Now, the back of Dom’s smile began to harden, his teeth baring down tight enough to ring in his ears. Vince was one of his best friends. Knew Dom better than Dom knew himself sometimes but he couldn’t know about this, right?

Vince continued yammering without the inner interference playing inside Dom’s head. “--I mean, you gave up the crown, so don’t start trying to play king now that the heavy lifting is done.” Because Dom had bowed out of playing Bob the Builder when the baby mobile failed to pop up. He refused to be handed a repeated series of L’s, giving him a rare taste of flopping. “It’s about to finally come together and everybody better be grateful for this shit. _Everyone_.  Goldilocks included. Cuz this was stupidly hard—like what, you gotta be Einstein or some shit to build a playpen?” Groused Vince, as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “You shouldn’t have to qualify for NASA to keep a baby entertained is all I’m sayin’.”

Dom took another slow, assessing look of the occupant of thirty minutes of Vince’s time. “V, this thing--” he pointed to the playpen that resembled a mini-circus tent. “—is as simple as the Flintstones doing physics.”

For a second Vince halted the drudgery of wrenching the tiny tool through a tight arc of torture. His brows tended towards a Wolfman edge when he went too long between haircuts, so when his left marched upward, nearly vibrating with feral suspicion, he looked over his shoulder at Dom. “Dom, seriously, man, y’know I hate when you actually decide to lift one of Mia’s books—and y’know, read ‘em instead of just lifting them over to somewhere else. You’re scaring me, brother, makin’ me think the Bodysnatchers got ya.”

As smooth as Dom liked to appear, he was still human and had been a kid, too, once capable of being freaked out by B-movie tropes. The concept of being snatched and being swapped without anyone knowing had terrified him years during his bid in Lompoc where being sequestered in a dark, deep place and rehabilitated gave his head plenty of space to imagine all of his worst nightmares come true. Or so he believed until he was ready for release. That fear keeping him alive until he breathed his first free breath. 

But Dom chuckled through the aftermath of Vince’ unintended trespasses. “At least I look at the words and the pictures— _words and pictures_ , V, big difference by the way.  And will you give the Twins their books back already? I’m sure _See Spot Run_ is as exciting as hell, but, c’mon, man. After all these years it’s time to level up.”

Vince scratched through the shaggy carpet of hair on the back of his head. “See Spot run this--”and kept up a slow motion with his middle finger capped with a black rim from a last minute oil top-off and miscellaneous grit that always followed Vince much like the dirt cloud hovered around Charlie Brown’s grubby homie, Pigpen.

Dom spied Leon tapping away at his phone with a faint grin on his face while Vince returned to his task of giving the twins a way to enjoy Race Wars like the rest of the team. In the relative calm, Dom’s thoughts went sliding back into the shallow murk of the past semi-week.

Dom hadn’t been full of shit when he dropped those three words nearly a week ago. Had not originally intended to pluck them from the air but that didn’t preclude them from being true. And after he’d said them, those few milliseconds of silence as the words descended through the air came with the slow whistling prior to impact until the inevitable explosion of _want_ , _need_ , and _now_ recoiled to knock him off his feet.  

His head was twisted up, his thoughts constantly swirling like the bands in a hurricane while the center remained clear. Of course, the center of his storm was Brian. If Dom felt like he was trying to contain a storm full of chaotic winds and rains with each bridging thought since Saturday morning, then each hit of contact—the smiles, the laughs, the corny texts—were the calm.

Everything--all of it--felt rigged to fall like dominoes; a push or a breeze would do the job.

Even when Brian was not there, he was as present as the heat on Dom’s skin.

So here Dom went back to Wednesday and Mr. Lin swinging by the garage for another round of resuscitate and roll for his beloved piecer. Mr. Lin was a long-time customer going back to the days when his Pop ran the shop and Dom ran around in diapers, trying to chip his baby teeth on socket wrenches.

Cash was king ninety-nine percent of the time, but sometimes DT's could operate on a quid pro quo system if the other half of the equation was legit, and Mr. Lin, who was a forty-year deep customer, could float on that system when cash was low. The old man had spied the growing mountain of infant appropriate car themed goodies and had offered up an exchange of  new air filters and an exhaust line for the space age deluxe eco-friendly and sun-resistant playpen or _Playstation 4_ that came through his pawn shop. Letty and Jesse had been disappointed that it hadn’t been _that_ type of Playstation.

Dom chose the playpen. Why? Because the Twins were actually kinda cool, unintentionally hilarious, and if he kept them cool literally, then they'd be happy and Brian would be focused on getting the GT-R across the finish line. Then they would all be able to double-back to the happiness factor. It was a simple enough equation that Dom didn't need Mia or Tej or Jess to analyze, because if Brian was happy then Dom was definitely happy. End of story.

Per tradition, the team arrived early barely before dawn to snatch up their spots at the center of the white sand flat that drivers literally fought to have. Once the cars were lined up, they maneuvered the old Gulf Stream into park in the zone designated for temporary residential space with access to the cleanest port-o-Johns for 20 miles.

Dom always got a chill when they parked in their spot. A little shiver in spite of the heat like they were truly on hallowed ground, ideally the plot of space that his Pop had traversed during his first and last appearance at Race Wars to watch Dom flex him burgeoning driving muscles on a desert track.

Inside the visor of Dom’s car was the only lucky charm he brought along for Race Wars. An item so sacred that Dom would only risk looking at it once a year. His Pop had been proud, sure—he had stood beside Dom after the race beside the baby starter ride of a Civic dolled up with tender, love, and care—with his arm swung over Dom’s shoulders, Dom’s keys proudly dangling between his Pop’s perpetually oil darkened fingers, a smile breaking the thin cover of his salt and pepper mustache, and all the pride in the world beaming back through the photograph. The last photo of a father and son: a moment in time that could have been reprinted in museums around the world with universal translation.

This was Dom’s healthy respect for superstition. The reason they got up early to beat the city traffic and hungry racers to find the same patch of sand year after year at Dom’s silent behest. Because this was the closest that any of them could come to being near the only father most of them had ever had.

He could hear Mia buzzing around in the Gulf Stream while Jesse and Letty ran last minutes diagnostics under the Jetta and Nissan’s hoods.

Apparently Leon had looked up just in time to see familiar faces and began to coolly wave to friends and acquaintances, shouting out an energetic, “Ayo!” to Hector and the rest of the Gato Negro crew as he tucked his phone away.  When a few reached out to share the love, Leon strolled over the sand to greet them without a care for his third best pair of Air Force Ones nor the collection of new scoffs to be added to the painted up white on blue facades, the degree of his smile rising the closer he got. How somethings had really changed over the years.

When Leon returned, he pulled up beside Dom to bump Dom’s shoulder for attention. “So, do you still think going to the bench helped?” Looking at Vince’s work at nearly a one hundred-eighty degree angle for clarity. “Not sure tagging in Vince-o-saurus Rex is the best idea but you gotta do what’s best for the kids.” Leon acknowledged with a straight face that lasted for five seconds before splitting into a teasing grin.

Stubbornness sealed Dom’s lips for a couple of seconds, finally cracking to let an answer escape. “Vince seemed to want the job. Who am I to stand between him and something that’s not food?” Never in Dom’s life had Vince ever pushed him aside; now Dom could claim to have experienced many of life curve balls. “For a second there, I thought I could feel the Force or whatever, so, yeah, I’m not blocking destiny.”

Leon’s grin took on a _knowing_ slant. “Man, outta everybody I can’t believe V turned out to have the secret baby-whisperin’ mojo. It’s like waking up in Bizarro World, but y’know one where V actually likes people.” Leon laughed, shaking his head. “If he stops snoring like a semi, then I know I’m in Bizarro World.” 

Vince leaned back to inspect the joints on the Playstation. “I told you my skills are limitless.”

“Or just the limit of less, maybe.” Dom clapped back because the sky was blue, water was wet, and the clock struck the right second to give Vince just a little bit of shit.

Vince made anotther silent show of scratching the back of his head with slow raking fingers with the exception of the long middle finger capped by a black crown of dirt across the nail bed. He cleared his throat with a dry huff and growled, “Don’t hate the player, hate the fact that the Coyote finally made a sandwich outta the Road Runner, suckers. And guess what?” He twisted the wrench hard, then cocked his head fifteen degrees to catch their eyes. “Road Runner sandwich tastes better than Lee’s mama’s cookin’ any day.”

There was no reason for Dom to feel bad about snickering at Vince’s low blow directed at Leon’s mother. Leon, like Dom, was in the grips of trying to keep his shit together and not feed Vince’s trolling by laughing. “Well, we all go our talents, Gas Giant, so I guess we should all stick to what we’re good at, otherwise we don’t want the ol’ Coyote to end up choking on a fist.”

“Love it when you sweet talk me, Lee.” Vince volleyed back, chuckling down at the dirt.

“Someone has to.” Then Leon tapped his fist on Dom’s shoulder, a move that always got Dom activated like a push-button starter, getting them moving out into an open stretch of dirt and out of the orbit of Vince’s victory party for one.

Dom’s phone buzzed not for the first time that day. He pulled it out of his back pocket, unlocking the screen to a series of texts from Brian, easily charting the progress of corralling a collection of semi-adults, teens, and infants into rank and order for the trip to the desert. The last one series Dom finally replied.

 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150053799@N04/36624613116/in/dateposted-public/)

Dom’s eyes kept catching on the last line of the text.

 _I’ve got you_ , Brian’s text said, and if that line didn’t tie Dom’s stomach in knots.

 _I’ve got you:_ Brian’s hooks in Dom sank deep and despite the whispers of doubt, Dom still couldn’t decide if we wanted to try shaking them off.

 _I’ve got you_ : Because Brian had him stuck in the middle of his feelings, drowning under the intensity of the tide of swirling emotions too quickly for Dom to restore his equilibrium.

 _I’ve got you_ : Because Brian’s ex liked sending reminders that he’d had Brian once and had no desire to let go.

 _I’ve got you_ : Because they’d agreed that neither one of them was good with words, making actions the only truly weighted currency, but some words mattered— _I love you_ , Dom had said when the sun began to kiss the horizon, slow and sweet, mimicking the way his lips journeyed over the hard slopes of Brian’s shoulders.

This time, Dom didn’t reply in a couple of hard taps against the glass, instead moving to store his phone with succinct motions without the usual buzz of anticipation that came from any contact with Brian.

Of course, Leon sensed the shift in Dom’s vibe. “You two okay?” He asked as they followed the dirt around the trailer.

“Yeah, yeah…” Dom answered, albeit flatly. His words strung up like an inch thick concrete wall. The chaos in Dom’s head started and ended with what he’d done on Saturday morning. The mental seesaw continued to totter between the sands of guilt and trepidation. Guilt tipping the scale when Dom remembered deleting the call, the rambling blocks of Spanish poetry, and the pictures from Brian’s phone. He still couldn’t pinpoint the other feeling exactly—trepidation being the closest thing to how shook he was by seeing proof that he wasn’t the only one to love Brian like he did.

Not believing him a damn bit, Leon barred Dom from moving on with an arm thrown in front of Dom’s path. So Leon doubled down, “Are you good, Dom?”  Because Dom’s been playing tug o’ war for the last seven days and maybe Leon and Mia were the only ones with a clue.

This was his fault. Every injury he felt since Saturday morning had been his fault, because all he had to do was ignore it--ignore Brian’s phone, but he didn’t and now this was where he was. If a picture was worth a thousand words, then the three sent to Brian left Dom broke. Too bad he couldn’t delete them from memory.

Picture one looked like an accidental snap that was simultaneously too dark and too light to be distinctive. The images came together like the proof presented in one of those paranormal shows that Vince, Letty, and Jesse liked to geek out on. Beyond the background of inky blackness, white wisps shaded the foreground in the ghostly curtain of smoke. The teasing orange dot at the end of a sepia hand curled around the tubular body of a cigar. None of it seemed consequential until Dom magnified the picture by tripodding his fingers across the screen. Until he noticed a second hand clutching the wrist of the first. It was an abstract intimate embrace.

The second picture was layered by the effects of a rustic filter which only made the familiar pair of battered black Chucks look ancient beside a pair of haphazardly splayed cherry sparring gloves. Like the previous picture, the foreground image was the distraction from the background revelation: a naked back bedded against remarkably white sheets.

The last picture skipped the subtlety in favor of a direct assault: an intent kiss that Brian was partially leaning into with eyes closed while another man—young, handsome, arrogant, smirked through a laugh  at the camera. The asshole from the bar, Dom’s mind supplied, when he tried to place the vaguely familiar face, or just the familiar eye roll generated by looking at the guy.

The asshole didn’t matter as much as one simple detail from the picture: Brian kissed with his eyes closed. A fact that had been lost on Dom, because he kissed with full faith in the other person he happened to be kissing—in this case, it was Brian, so he’d never noticed. In the picture, Brian’s cheeks were flushed, red and glossy like he’d been running and stopped to share a kiss with the asshole from the bar. Catch his breath and catch a kiss. What a combination. Now Dom possessed a face accompanied by the seared impression to permanent memory of a time not so long ago where Brian appeared equally as happy and drunk on _feelings_.

Since that morning, Dom had lived inside the chaos of his own creation. It was a chaotic situation—this constant attraction and repulsion, though Dom still found every opportunity to be around Brian, only once face to face, Dom kept a circumferential distance between them. That bitter peace only lasted until Brian breached the distance or Dom was forced to drop his resistance and let Brian close enough to kiss, accepting that each first kiss carried the prick of a needle stick—a shock of pain and the excited flush of a noxious injection. Dom kissed back hard and almost brutal, eyes unfailingly open as if he’d catch Brian unguarded and completely open, finally bearing the answers that Dom’s obsessively wanted but refused to need.

Dom grated his teeth over his bottom lip as a rainbow of cars crossed the sand to find a temporary rest. “I’m--” he hesitated sifting through the mental sands for the right word, “figuring some things out”. Like the addicts that populated the meetings held by the clergy or bleeding-heart counselors in Lompoc, Dom felt a slight tingle down his spine at realizing that he’d paid attention and picked up something deeper than the superficial working of the Steps. The questions then and the questions now were the same: _how did I get here?_

Leon gave him a sideways look, saying, “Huh,” now obviously caught off-guard.

Dom wasn’t looking for any hood-style psychoanalysis, so he rolled on. “Don’t worry about it.” Again catching Leon on the side with a stiff shoulder, Dom diverted their conversation to more pressing issues.  “Got any news for me? I’ve been hit up with a few too many calls from Tego and Rico about the next shipments. Apparently, they’ve been making promises that they’re having a hard time keeping, and are boomeranging their shit back to me.”

“I know that they’re your cousins, but, like, damn, Dom. Neither one of them could keep a secret in a monastery, so I feel like you’ve been givin’ them too much heavy lifting to move the shipments on the DR end.” Because Leon had updated him a couple of days prior about a few freighters carrying promising things, including some JDM parts that might keep Harry and some of the other sellers ready to part with their cash.

Dom almost sighed. Almost. “They’re--”

“—Family,” Leon finished, because that concept was like a go-to escape hatch for Dom. The Dom-Deux-ex-Machina for Dom’s tough decisions.  “My connects are keeping the lookout and’ve already started coming through with the intel.”

They parted around a beautiful flock of racer bunnies that forced Dom and Leon to snap open the narrow chasm between their shoulders. “Like what?” Dom’s question curled around the supple curves and teasing looks directed at him.

 Leon twisted on one foot to throw himself in reverse to keep the entire array of soft taillights in his view.

“Leon.” Dom prompted with eyes still ahead.

Leon ducked his head, a faint trace of red dusting his cheeks, blaming the sun would be easy, but Leon opted for multiple octave dog howl. “I might be human, but as Letty has reminded me each time she clocked me in the balls, I’m still a dog.”

“Your secret’s safe, man. Snitching ain’t on the table…” Even if the fuckup was beyond belief. A code was a code and Dom might have stretched his to the limits, but he would never break it.

They laughed conspiratorially without swooping into the chortling ala Boris and Natasha. Dom nudged Leon to continue with a short shot to the side and a beckoning hand. “That Bridge to the Americas that the City was talking ‘bout is actually living up to the hype. All that shit that’s being overproduced in Asia that can’t be sold locally is getting rerouted to the rest of the Americas and out again. At last count, at least six semi companies are rolling in to haul the loot south and north. So we gotta make a plan soon. Y’know Flaco?” Dom shook his head. “He’s actually not one of Hector’s cousins, even if he looks a helluva lot like him, but, dude told me that there’s a big roll out this weekend, and after that we gotta ‘bout three more weeks to move before we can’t.”

Dom had his share of homework to make the jackings flow smoothly. The jackings worked because they’d found the correct balance of speed and finesse to corral, capture, and compel the drivers into submission. Fine-tuning the finesse had become a singularly Dom responsibility. “Lemme think on it for a minute and I’ll give you some points to start checking on—like gas or electronics.” Figuring that it wasn’t necessary to start fishing for haul-home items yet.  “I’ll get V and Jess to check out the Civics while me and Let square away the storage and handoff deets.  Til then make sure our connect’s cut is still the same and that they’re keeping this on the low. No surprises, remember? We’re not running a magic show.”

Leon flipped the ends of his toothpick as he considered Dom’s words. “Yo, you sure we’re not just a little bit of a circus? C’mon, we’ve got Bozo over there, a Dragon Lady--” because it wasn’t six shots of Fireball and Jose that made him swear that Dom had seen Letty breathe fire once, “--and a bottomless pit.”

“So, yeah, maybe we’re a part-time side show.” Dom agreed. “As long as our pockets are full, I’m willing to play ringmaster.”

Earning a barked out laugh, Leon shook his head in mock remorse. “You’re so wrong for that,” he stated without weighing Dom’s innocence, “I’ll pity your balls--” Leon crossed himself haphazardly, “when Letty realizes you’re putting her out there to tame Tego and Rico like human Adderall.”

Notorious for raising voices to the Mickey Mouse register or eliciting tears, Letty’s hook was legendary and Dom would prepare accordingly. “That’s why God invented ice packs, right?” Thinking of the possibilities, maybe he could get Giselle and Suki to hang around that day or two  for _purposes_ , but then Dom was struck by the thought of the three of them teaming up and felt a phantom pain low in his belly. “Can your balls get a concussion? Just askin’ for a friend?”

Leon quirked his head, plucking his toothpick from his mouth to hover in the air as he mulled over the question. “Um…they can become blue? I’ll ask Tej or Wikipedia.”

“Not Mia.” Dom added, knowing better than to give his little sister ammunition.

“Right on that.”

Dom would hit up Tego after Race Wars, already considering the job as the last for a while. Mainly because there was just too much shit on his mind to get it done right. His Pop taught him well: strike when it's hot, but his Mami said _En boca cerrada no entran las moscas._ “I’ll ring the Fam then we can put a sketch together.” If Dom started drifting now, then he’d keep Leon from circling back to before by verbally twisting the course of the conversation back to Leon.

“Is Sophie coming out to watch you call the shots?  I see you got your chest puffed out all ready to post up like Captain Crunch on a milk high standing on a heap of treasure.”

Leon clicked his tongue. “Captain Crunch wishes he looked this damn fly. Got the lucky lid on, so I know it’s only a lil bit until I’ll be posing like Scarlett O’Hara with our winnings.” He made a show of fanning himself with invisible double fistfuls of post-win skrilla.

“But, nah, D, Soph’s got a seminar during the day, so she’ll be out later tonight. Then it’s on til the AM.”

Leon waved to the toothpick that he’d been chewing on steadily. “This is me trying to do the right thing. I don’t know if it’s Aversion Therapy or just plain torture but I’m not gonna be Mia’s hostage again. Between the pictures and the threats, I decided that there’ll be no cigs for me this weekend. Not making promises about the bud, but the cigs are a no. Don’t let anyone say that Uncle Leon doesn’t love the kids.”

Dom snorted lowly but not unkindly; it was with actual admiration, knowing that a mountain lay in front of his best bud. “One, good luck with holding out.” Because Leon had been sneaking a cig or two since they’d first started sprouting chest hair. “Two, I hope you’re stocked up on the toothpicks, gum or whatever—just don’t start chugging any of that hellwater piss that Jess and Brian like to drink instead.” As if Jesse needed more energy, the kid and Brian had bonded as connoisseurs of legalized cocaine in a can. Dom had tried it once, and once was enough. “—That one’s looking a little gnawed on, just sayin’, by the way.”

“Yeah, I ready though.” Leon palmed a small box from his pocket, holding it for Dom to see. He rattled the box to show that his reserve supply was hearty and hale. “

The smoking was a thing that Dom accepted but hadn’t liked, much in the way that he accepted that Vince snored like an old diesel engine or Mia and Jess tried to include him in their ~~nerd~~ book talk; Dom just accepted these things for what they were and how they fit into his team. “Cool, appreciate it,” Dom offered as they began to skirt the rim of actual heavy traffic. “And, um, three, that Uncle Leon bit? When was that decided? Sounds like the _home-style_ needs to follow Uncle Leon’s blah blah blah.” Not that Uncle Leon was a bad thought, just a little soon, maybe?

Leon framed a scene between the Ls of his fingers, putting a candy peacock blue Camaro in the center, as his voice dipped into the worst Italian accent imaginable. “Picture it: Echo Park two-thousand and change, Uncle Leon’s Lid Shop, Uncle Leon’s Rims Row, Uncle Leon’s Wonder Weed...”

“I gonna assume that you didn’t add dabs to the toothpick. You’re thinking big thoughts. High thoughts? But I won’t curve your dreams.” Dom said now that he was possibly get the faintest traces of a contact high from Leon’s effervescent mood.

They spotted a few more familiar faces from rallies around Echo Park and waved. “You can’t blame me for being so chill and just happy, man. Race Wars is like Christmas, except we’re gonna get better gifts, gifts that keep on giving, and we got the Car Gods smiling down on us with good food, good sun, and the Fam all in one place. So, why shouldn’t I be jolly?”

Every point had landed as the music started to kick up its electric buzz and the sun beamed down hotter, the heat made heavier by the mix of moving bodies and the clouds of exhaust and grill smoke. The day was coloring itself to be a good one, if only Dom could handle the mental gridlock that had been colliding his thoughts.

Race Wars equaled two days in a bubble from a world that looked at most them with narrowed, suspicious eyes, whispered a round of _you ain’t shit, never gonna be shit, and never was shit to begin with_ ; one of the few places where there was legit freedom and room to breathe without a shadowy boot weighing down on the back of a neck. A place where engines were king and steady hands were the independent variable, worth more than gold, and gas was the limiting reagent for speed, guts, and glory. All the reasons why Dom loved Race Wars so much.

Across the makeshift lot, Dom and Leon spotted more familiar faces that they nodded respectfully to before they kept walking a winding path through spectators and searching cars. “But I’m not the one that’s throwing out the vibe like I got a soggy bowl of Corn Flakes this morning. So, what’s up?”

There was so much Dom wanted to say that he couldn't allow himself to unleash. Instead, Dom put out a simple, "I’m not sleeping well, man. Just a lot on my mind." He mumbled soberly.

Far from satisfied, Leon sifted through the vague tides of Dom’s reply for a nugget of meaning and declared, “You got the bug, Dom,” steadily like he was supplying a formal diagnosis.

Dom almost squawked, “What?!” Because that had been one time and since then he always—or nearly always wrapped it up.

Leon easily slipped into the motions of handling Dom’s rising temper, mentally shifting gears until physically locking the brakes so that neither of them moved beyond this point. “Hear me out, unless you got something to confess?” Leon took a slight turn for the serious, losing his easy smile until Dom shook his head in the negative. So Leon entreated, “You can't sleep without it. You're used to sleeping alone but now that you don't have to, you can't.” The hug that locked Dom and Leon together at their sides packed a lot of inertia with it, more than Dom thought was necessary but was dealt out at the right strength according to Leon’s read of the situation. “It is what it is, Dom. And I think that’s good.”

“You’re wr--” Dom almost said but realized as always that Leon was striking at the truth with perfect aim. “Maybe,” he conceded instead.

Something stopped Dom from telling Leon about dreaming about those moments that upped his heart rate and got his wrists snapping with phantom abandon. But those same dreams had taken a turn lately, leaving his hands stuck in spastic fists. All moments of them—him and Brian, flickering, cascading, and blurring together until Dom became a blank space, and against his will, the Asshole was now inserted on the other end of Brian's attention.

Dom cursed himself for being too smart to be dumb. Seeing the escalation of attraction through a prism of kisses that had been replayed on loop in real time and then retrospectively from different perspectives, allowed Dom to obsess about the angles and meanings until it was HIM substituted in Dom's place.

The dreams ramped up their brutality until Dom was grateful to wake up in a cold sweat. Thankful to no longer be a ghost in a scene where the Asshole appears from the darkness with a cougar-paced swagger, his car heavy with the stench of dripping money, uttering the magic words that cracked Brian open—spilling every secret and raising the volume on his silent declarations.  While Dom remained a ghost, ineffectual as he was forced to watch them walk away into the dark. Nothing but the flash of expensive tail lights following them while Dom couldn’t react no matter how hard he tried.

Answering the question felt like Dom was trying to grasp a hundred different threads of thought and process them out through his throat. A feat that made him feel remarkably clumsy in words and actions as he tried to weave the words together correctly as Leon waited patiently.

Leon put the all-knowing karmic eye on him and Dom braced himself. "Did you--" Leon started in, then tuned up his inspection as he pushed through the pause. "You dropped a 4-letter bomb and it didn't rhyme with duck." Leon paused. “That funny little look on your face—yeah, like _that one_ right now, where you look like you’ve been asked to do the Macrena while making a perp walk says you did.”

Now Dom rolled his eyes, refuting the ridiculous descriptor. “I don’t look like that.” Trying to err on the side of cool. “My face has never done _that_.” Sharply delivered as Leon imitated Dom’s so-called cumbersome face.

Nodding tightly, Leon disagreed, “Bruh, you looked exactly like that after you stepped out on Letty but never like that anytime when you said that you loved her.” Now Dom understood the silence that preceded and followed terrible things.

Exhaling low, Dom's brows pushed up in an unsettled furrow." How do you do that?"  Seriously not tempted to believe that Leon was actually psychic. “It’s creepy.”

One wiry Clippers jersey-covered shoulder rose in a relaxed shrug. "Bro--Dom, I just know you. I know callin' myself the Toretto Whisperer sounds corny as hell but I know what that look means. And if you’ve keeping things straight,” Dom reflexively snorted, “—then I think you’re just letting the physics—y’know the action-reaction thing settle in, and your face just shows that you’re processing it with that look."

"You might be right, but I still don’t have a look." Challenged Dom, because he knew his face and his emotions were often the barometer of how things were going or not. "I don't." Asserting what he would have bet a smooth dollar on, because he did not have a lovelorn face.

Leon barked out a solitary howl as he stroked the narrow corners of his goatee. "What look, Dom?!" His voice laden with enough incredulity to smoother the raucous hiccups of buzzing engines. "That look right there. I mean, it's been on your face for a smooth couple of days and half the time I imagine the little Dom in your head is strolling up to your eyes, dropping the heavy shades all cartoon style, and totally setting up to get inappropriate behind the covers. "

Of course Leon started grinning like he'd won the 10k final heat as Dom's face betrayed the exact sequence of Leon's accusation unfolding in his mind’s eye. Sure, Dom’s thoughts kept diverting down a path bracketed by reminders--sights, sounds, and tastes--from hours spent in the early dark. The last second before the path dropped off was the steady repeat of Dom’s uttered _I love you_ and the slow, sweet smile Brian offered in initial reciprocation. The cliff emerged at the sound of the Asshole’s voice and his edict that Brian come home.

Owning up to Leon’s prediction would be the safe and slightly less painless route. “I might have let my mouth run a little but I don’t regret it.” Really, Dom didn’t but the hook that seemed to keep catching him up was the sheer uncertainty of what came next. “I can admit I’m a little caught up right now between this--”indicating Race Wars with a minimal whirl of his fingers“--and the business and this thing with Brian but I’m not twisted up.”

“Good, man, just take it one day at a time.” Leon might’ve not had the brainpower like Mia and Jesse but he was always on a quest for perpetual knowledge, embracing the tenets of A-A and other rehabs after multiple brushes with lock up like Dom, except unlike Dom, the lessons actually stuck.

Leon offered him a hummingbird quick pat on the back. “Everything is all good. Literally, Dom, _all good._ We got sun and cars, and family, and shit, we got things moving to snatch us up right in here.” He pointed to his chest. “Seriously, it should be illegal to feel this good.”

If Dom was right about his suspicion of Leon popping a dab or two, then that good feeling might be only slightly illegal. Anyway, Dom could agree, “You’re right.” There were too many good things to be sour about today, so as his Mami used to hiss under her breath when he was being a brat, Dom decided to fix his face.

Finally, Leon turned away from soaking up the sun and luxuriating in the moment to give Dom the last slice of his heavy deserves. “If you got doubts, just ask yourself: why? Then you’ll have your answer.”  Then Leon discarded his first gnarled toothpick for a fresh stick from his stash before resuming a copacetic expression.

If there was one word that kept staring Dom in the face with an unrelenting glare, it was **competition**. Each knot in his stomach, the dryness of his throat, the electricity in his blood that made his fists clench with heavy expectations circled back to this one word.

Dom knew competition. Race Wars was all about it, but what he faced on the track was a known beast that he could lull and tame. _This_ \--that voice on the line hiding out in the dark--was unknown. And as much as Dom didn’t want to admit it, the fact remained that so much of who Brian was remained unknown to him. There was no deadline for soul bearing but Dom had found it easier to crack his shell open for Brian while the latter chipped away at his at a snail’s pace.

He had accepted that losing was a part of life. The deaths of his parents wasn’t a loss; it was a tragedy that Dom had mourned and buried. But losing was as foreign to Dom as mediocrity was to Mia: a concept that he understood in theory but failed to accept or apply to his life. A thing best reconciled to be inevitable for other people. Dom could count his parents, his freedom, and his self-respect as being taken from him but never lost.

His mouth churned uneasily, lips furling under the sharp grind of his teeth as he mulled over how under the sun’s rays or the darkest corners of the night he would vow to not give up.

Leon automatically got the ‘ _W’_ for helping Dom navigate this mental minefield.

Apparently, there was one final pearl of advice that Leon wanted to share as they started their trek back to the Gulf Stream. “You’re sweating Brian hard and that’s fine. After the other night, I can see why you’d be into him and have some feelings, cuz you’re not the only one feeling him.” And no, this was Leon proving him wrong with the psychic cred; this was Leon just recalling the crowd’s reaction at the Fox Hole Lounge and the multitude of ways that Dom had been uncomfortable. “Remember, what’s good for the goose is good for the herd.”

This was not one of those heard it both ways moments but Dom let it slide, clearly understanding Leon’s intent. “Right.” Steering away to less painful matters, Dom returned to issues that would be approaching in a few hours. “You sure you have enough hands for all the cash that’ll be floating back to you? Two hands might not be enough.” Considering how they’d preplanned the heats and stacked themselves to run the tables in the quarters, half-miles, and long tracks, there was no doubt that they’d be walking away with at least five stacks.

“The money’s in good hands. Tej and Jess have been huddled over their calculators doing their two man Rain Man thing so that we can maximize our funds and returns.”

Dom gave Leon a semi-bow. “Have you tried to sweet talking Sophie with your Mad Money linguistic skills yet? Cuz I’m not sure if you’re gonna sweep her off her feet with that way. She’s smart and probably has a handle on the Wall Street game better than we do.”

For a second, Leon blushed and palmed his toothpick as he pulled a shy face. “We’re talking alright but we ain’t talkin’ that much. So, I’m gotta keep this trick in reserve until I really need to wow her, so, yeah, you ain’t the only one catching feelings.”

“Impressive.” Dom said.

Leon thumbed the bib of his cap. “Thanks. I haven’t seen any cars that’ve made me excited. Eh, maybe, a BMW 318i or an all-wheel drive Evo or one lowered Ford Fiesta that might be sweet to watch. Everything else looks like all stunt with no show to back’em up.”

For Dom, Leon’s assessment was good to hear, meaning that their weekend would be even easier, though not without legit competition. “We know what to expect: Hector’s crew is running and Edwin’s Acura will roll through and we beat them every time. Tran though--” Dom sighed. “He’s not just talk. Not just a rich boy from Orange County.  Tran rolls with shooters. Is a shooter. Rat-a-tat-tat…” Dom mimicked the spray of bullets. “You only fuck with him when you’re one hundred and ten percent sure.”

Leon hummed thoughtful before flipping the ends of the toothpick between his teeth. “I’m one hundred percent sure on all of us, but Tran is like a black hole of negative cosmic energy, so who the fuck knows what’ll happen when he and his crew show up.”

Johnny Tran was a perpetual shark who got off on driving too close, so that the rearview mirror would show him snapping his teeth, and he liked tapping the gas to ride the bumper until he punked his competition into drifting out of his way. Like a shark, Tran was at his best when leaving blood in the water. He was reasonable competition for Dom, causing him to learn how to drive smarter to combat one hundred grand under the hood. But cash still didn’t guarantee control, so Dom remained leery of their eventual meeting but he didn’t dread it.

Some years back for a hot second, Dom almost had given into the temptation of getting access to the flash and quick cash that Johnny and the Trans offered. Flirting with Tran’s sister--no relation to Sophie--was a dance with the devil that Dom had thankfully been pulled back from by Letty and Vince in a rare unified showing of restraint. Tran was good--vicious but a good driver nonetheless. Lance, Johnny’s cousin, lacked the skill but made up for his deficiencies at the wheel with a brutal edge that left hangers-on and challengers laid up and crippled. There might’ve been whispers of a body of two to his name but no one opening their mouths to snitch, because the Trans ran deep and had a long reach.

“Don’t worry about Johnny Tran.” Dom cut in. “Pop used to say that driving was only a quarter of what was in front of you, and the rest was all around you. As long as none of us put Johnny Tran in the rearview mirror, then we’re good.”

Brows notching together inquisitively, Leon prodded gently, “You including yourself and Brian in that decree, too?” Trusting that Dom or Brian could take Johnny and increase their cash by several multiples by winning.

Doubt didn’t have a place in Dom’s consideration of the probability of him and Brian rolling past Johnny Tran or anyone else Johnny ponied up for Race Wars. No, it was everyone else and the possible blow-back from the impending humiliation that a string of _L_ ’s would cause that forced Dom to proceed cautiously.

“Me and Bri--either of us could take Tran in the Mazda or the GT-R but you know it never ends when you cross the finish line with Johnny. Some people never learn how to lose gracefully and I’m not up for teaching him the lesson right now, so I’m gonna let someone take the bait and sit back and watch.” With the exception of jacking the semis, which required a show of force, Dom didn’t go around strapped up, mostly because he’d never been a banger and knowing how sticky parole could be, the last thing he wanted was to get popped by his P.O. or the cops with a heater. But racing Johnny was one of those situations where it was important to be strapped and ready for action should Johnny and crew pop off.

“Right, right…” Agreed Leon as they finished their long return loop to familiar ground. “I’ll give that message to the troops, oh-Capi-tan, but I gotta ask: who’s on the grill again while the rest of us are racing or counting the cash?”

Dom pointed to the little Nissan Silvia making a slow crawl through the traffic towards the Gulf Stream. “I called in reinforcements who can respect the grill and work a wrench if needed. By the way, Tej is gonna pull double duty. Unlike Rome, he knows how to make good barbecue, not just eat it.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility you’re giving him. I’m shocked and amazed. Literally. Like literally.” Because Dom didn’t trust the grill to anyone. Not even Mia.

Rolling his eyes, Dom replied as he caught his first glimpse of familiar paint parking. “I think they call this a division of labor. So some race, some cook, and then we meet in the middle to party.”

The Silvia backed in beside Leon’s bumble bee yellow GT-R, unintentionally kicking up dust as it reversed for a few seconds until the body stopped moving and the driver’s side door opened to reveal Han.

Now Leon grinned broadly at the sight of their second in command of the grill. “Yo, good looking out.” Leon said to Dom.

Han strolled up to them before pocketing a half-way gone bag of fun sized Cheetos. The dust magically absent from his fingers as the trio hugged it out in mutual greeting. “It’s Korean barbecue or bust, guys.” Han stated baldly as he took in the grill and supplies to feed the team. “And unlike class, there will be no substitutions.”

Dom offered him a sweeping gesture that directed Han to the grill. “Seoul-oh, the grill is yours with some back-up coming to warm the bench.”

As per usual, Leon remained agreeable. “As long as you’re willing to cook, I’m down to eat. Just make sure you get the numbers right and we won’t have any problems.”

* * *

Dom found his reset point thanks to Leon’s propensity to share his cosmic zen. So, with this new neutral point to anchor him, Dom went about checking off the last odds and ends on the pre-Race War check-off list.

A little under fifteen minutes had passed before Brian and the rest of his familial entourage showed up. Dom looked on proudly as the GT-R and the big bodied Caddy moved into position, lining up like members of sweetly painted fleet of road running fury.

The feelings of expectation and excitement had grown contagious, spreading from him to Mia, who practically bounced on her heels, mimicking Jesse’s constant vibratory energy while Vince stood triumphantly over the baby spa that he’d erected as Leon and Letty gave impressed looks upon their inspection.

Despite the boom of the music from the fleet of trunk speakers and the first acts on the distant stage, Dom could still hear Rome before he saw him.

“What’s up, My People!” Rome bellowed from across the narrow parking strip. “Just to let y’all know we brought plenty of water, plates, aluminum foil, and pockets. Cuz we’re all ‘bout to be stuffed with ... _mon-ney_!” Rome materialized two large plastic bags from the backseat of the Caddy. “And don’t think I forgot the most important piece—red Solo cups!” which he hoisted overhead like a victory chalice.

Dom caught the peripheral edges of Brian’s smile as Brian coordinated the mass exodus from the GT-R which from far off observation looked like a clown car circus act from an outsider's perspective. Dom was ready to move in to do his part but slowed his momentum as Tej and Suki moved in to act as twin extraction support.

Giselle jogged on her coltish legs over to Mia first who was the recipient of a running hug, followed by Jesse and then she flitted down the line to Letty and Leon, reserving a more restrained shoulder bump for Vince who did a remarkable job of not flinching under her dark smirking gaze.

Dom might have been the last one to receive one of her rare bursts of affection but he certainly didn’t feel least acknowledged. “Next year, I’m on the team.” She stated with the certainty that Dom wouldn’t argue with her.

His eyebrows crept skyward, bemused. “I won’t waste your time making a pedal joke,” Because Giselle was nearly as tall as Dom, “—but I’m pretty sure the unofficial official age to be legal in this is probably eighteen. When you’re fully legal, I’ll guarantee you a spot.” Thus, staving off a conversation with her brothers as well about the matter.

“Deal.” Her big brown eyes smiled up at him, making Dom quickly reminisce about Mia’s younger days before being sent off to Lompoc when she wasn’t much older than Giselle.  Like chocolate, the moment tinted his memories bittersweet.

She released him from her hug to take in the three-sixty of the grounds, her exploration stopping short near the grill. It took a second for Dom’s head to clue into _whom_ and not what had captured Giselle’s attention. Dom had an itch to act as soon as he realized Han was the object of Giselle’s fascination.

“Eighteen.” He repeated, confident that Brian would co-sign his intervention.

Her feline grin accompanied by a knowing dip of her chin answered a silent _challenge accepted_ , her grin minimizing to flex her dimples as she looked on at Han. “We’ll see.” Giselle muttered dreamily, and, oh shit, was Dom glad that Giselle was not his baby sister. Because Dom could remember the tight feeling in his chest and how his vision tinted towards the red spectrum with each tick of the clock that pushed Mia closer to eighteen. A test of his meager patience that Dom acknowledged that he’d barely survived. 

Giselle flitted into the open arms of Mia again, who embraced her excitedly before making her way back to her siblings.  Dom noticed the patterns of interaction now: how Leon and Tej started speaking like they were paused in conversation, Suki stepped up to Letty with a cocksure grin and one twin riding shotgun on her hip, while Rome and Vince tried to pretend that they weren’t friends while checking out the female competition and spectators buzzing around while dishing out sarcastic commentary.

Then there was Brian with Twink in tow making a direct line for Dom. Brian’s apparent obliviousness to the one-two combo of a sweet ride and a cute infant were drawing hungry eyes like a free Thanksgiving buffet. Of course, Brian kept strolling along as if Dom were the only point he could see.

Blaming the lingering surge of hormones from a week before or his turbulent dreams could’ve been the reason that Dom would’ve sworn that the California sun turned vicious--jealous, perhaps?--and the birds started singing louder than the hungry engines of a few hundred cars as Brian approached. Like a real Disney moment or some shit. There’s this natural urge to stand up taller and puff out his chest--just flex for the hell of it, even though Dom knew for shit sure that Brian wasn’t the type to swoon and faint.

Because he was tough, Dom fought against the sun’s glare; instead offering a preemptive show of teeth that forged itself into an easy grin as Brian crossed the final ten meters.

“Hey, sorry for the late start,” Brian began but Dom waved him off. He adjusted his grip on Twink’s carrier, shifting the handle from his right to left hand then upwards to chest height so Dom could extricate Twink from the confines of the seat.

Dom took in the black onesie which had a red, yellow, and green circle lining the front and the words _ready, set, go!_ marching down the back where they ended over the swell of the twin’s diaper clad butt. Dom issued Brian a look that clearly telegraphed _too fucking cute_ to which Brian’s lifted eyebrow answered _right?!_ and promised a deeper exploration of the twin’s Race Wars sartorial situation later.

Dom reeled Twink within catch and clutching distance of his chain. “Don’t worry about it. You’re still on time. You get extra-credit for wrangling all of that out here.” Like his older brother, Twink possessed the same fixation with rolling the links of Dom’s chain between his fingers, but unlike Brian, Twink definitely preferred to gnaw on it more.

Brian’s eyes had gone noticeably soft as he watched Dom and Twink bond over the particulars of bright, silver jewelry. “Good to know. I’ll use that extra-credit to bank on the rest of the weekend.” He accepted the gentle transfer once Dom had met his baby drool quota.

Leon stepped to the front of the crowd, taking his place on top of the big sturdy cooler that was stuffed to maximum capacity in order to get the group through two and a half days in the desert. In the place of his previous baseball lid was a crisp red Santa cap.

His first attempt to corral the group’s attention by clapping and stomping his feet went unheard until Tej swooped in for the assist by unleashing a loud two-finger whistle. “Thank you,” Leon tossed Tej’s way, then turned back to the combined swell of the two teams, “let’s get this started, shall we.”

Now Leon’s spectacle drew a few more adjacent bodies into the edges of their group. “So, here we go: Ladies, Gentlemen, and Vince! It’s that magical time of the year where engines and hearts vibrate to the same frequency. Welcome to Race Wars!” He bowed grandly to the sound of howls, yells, and a catcalling duet from Letty and Suki.

Leon twirled before his captive audience like the reincarnation of a swagged-out P.T. Barnum turned up on a four-pack of Red Bull. After a round of fastidious bows, Leon waved his hands to silence his audience. “Before I go farther down this yellow brick road of awesome, let me introduce my new apprentice--” from the back, Rome’s less than sly _half-pint sidekick_ was received with ninety-percent scowls and one high-five from Vince.

But Leon powered on to say, “My apprentice, Tej, who will be my second set of eyes and ears this year since my lil cuz has joined the herd.” Jesse blushed as Mia hip-checked him before Rome and Vince slid in to give him a couple of congratulatory nuggies.

“Since the team has gotten a bit bigger this year--” Leon gave Brian a silent shout-out, “Imma go over the rules to catch everybody—and Vince—up.” If Vince didn’t play it cool, then he might sprain his middle finger with the amount of use it would get over the course of the weekend.

Though Dom knew the rules for how the team operated during Race Wars—because he was the chief architect—he was impressed with Tej and Leon’s collaboration to teach or, just entertain, the masses. Tej removed a rectangular sheet, nearly legal pad sized, from his backpack, waved it around like Vanna White, then shook it out to reveal a billowy infographic that was approximately the size of a standard map.

Impressive.

Turning to Brian and Twink, he watched as Brian looked on, clearly amused, with low shuttered eyes that almost hid the crazy blue of his irises. Then Brian turned his way, giving Dom a response of “Yeah, he’s been practicing this for a while,” in a low tone, followed by a triumphant “Go Tej!” to support his younger brother’s sleight of hand.

“As you can see, we’re starting here and moving to the finished line but it all goes through me and my apprentice here.” Leon pointed to the photoshopped miniatures of himself and Tej posted up on top of the word Race Wars; both of which were clutching a badass pair of swords.

Dom appreciated his ability to focus at this moment. If he were one to be easily distracted, then he’d be a bit far gone by the fact that the road to Race Wars looked a helluva lot like the map of Westeros from the credits of Game of Thrones and the road to the finished line ended at the Iron Throne which was sitting on a new set of dubs.

Leon patted his pockets airily like he was prepping for take-off. “Just call me Mr. Monopoly, cuz I’m gonna be the bank. Everyone hands me their share of the pot that goes into the Community chest.” Which Tej pointed out as the Iron Bank. “Like winter, we’re on the come-up, so…we’re starting low and going high: first buy-ins a grand, then two, five, and we’re goin’ up to ten as our max.”

Now, Tej waved at the scroll layout that was etched into the Race Wars wall. “The rules are simple—even a baby could follow them, and I’m not talkin’ about Twink and Tank.” Rome opened his mouth to clap-back but snapped it shut as Suki’s elbow found its home in the hard curve of his ribs.

Continuing through the series, Tej recited the rules that were so artfully displayed. “Number one: We work our system, starting from the bottom til we get here,” pointing to the throne graphic. “Gotta climb the race pyramid.  Number two: No racin’ for pinks. None. Period. No sequel.” Number three was for Leon’s recitation. 

Leon waited for Tej to point to the third rule then spoke, “The most important rule: no sucker bets. If a teammate tells you to fall back, you will not pass go, do not try to collect two-hundred dollars, and drop your challenger like a jar of wildfyre.” The last part was a little lost on Dom, but the rest was the gospel truth. Their team didn’t get to the top by running stupid.

“Just think of these like the Commandments.” Leon said.

“Yo, Lee,” Vince cut in, “I appreciate alla the effort, but, c’mon: first you’re Mr. Moneybags, now you’re Moses. You gotta stick with one name. None of this flip-flopping like Diddy.”

Letty peered at Vince over the tops of her black shades, shaking her head minutely as she studied him. “Don’t worry about Ren and Stimpy; the rest of us are good and appreciate the show, Lee and Tej.”

The pair accepted Letty’s elusive compliment. “Thanks and on to Number four: have fun! Cuz we came to do what we do best: drive fast and party hard. So show’em how we roll! Now, cue the credits.” Signaling Tej to flip the map over to a flag of black, white and silver where the Charger, supped up with actual muscles and horns posed at the center with the words _House Kickass: To The Car Gods We Salute_! emblazoned across its path.

Cut to the applause as Leon dropped his invisible mic on his impromptu stage and triggered the start of a rather tasteful dubstep rendition of the Game of Thrones theme.

Dom watched as Leon and Tej absorbed the awed congratulations for their work. He'd been so bogged down in his head with _thoughts_ that Dom had forgotten how big a deal Race Wars was until he catalogued the reactions of his team and the O’Conner Crew.

So Dom turned to Brian who caught his gaze almost instantly. “Gotta admit…”

“It’s kinda cool,” Said Brian, finishing Dom’s thought.

Dom still might not have been up on half of the references that got tossed around but he appreciated the effort, considering that this was the first Race Wars for half of their group.

The music sparked the start of an impromptu get down, which Dom should have figured would’ve been compulsory given the famous hook dripping with Cali pride being spit by two of Cali’s favorite sons thumping from the speakers. A sun and beer-drunk flash mob was assembling along the long stretch near Dom’s trailer, extending four slots down, and what would’ve formerly given him a prime opportunity to scope out the competition now provided him with cover for the hard left that he wanted to pull.

Looking across the writhing dusty lawn of the multitudes of barely legal, Dom spotted Mia posted up between Jesse, Suki and Giselle, mostly holding court to receive Tanks’ undoubtedly excited attention. He looked at her, just looked in Mia’s general direction willing what his Pop had once called his _Mia-dar_ —a ripoff of Aquaman’s psychic fish sense—that only seemed to reach Mia when Dom was in the lowest levels of distress, e.g. in need of a patsy for his Mami’s broken something or a quick alibi, such as now.

From the corner of his eye, Dom peeped Brian still vibing to the music, apparently just as susceptible as the rest of the mortals to the siren’s call of Pac’s California Love. Punching up the strength of his concentration to will Mia to look his way, throwing in a small furrow of his brow that might’ve scared off more than a few writhing bodies or wannabe well-wishers, Dom continued to will his sister’s attention towards him.

Just then, Mia’s eyes shifted up from the toothless abyss of pure joy to catch the psychic wave that Dom had cast. _Yes, there goes that Toretto connection, Mia_ , Dom crowed in internal success. “You cool over there, Dom?” Brian handled Twink and a red cup with the dexterity of a brain surgeon spider monkey. “I’m not sure if rocking that look on your face is inspiring confidence or thoughts that you’re trying to light someone on fire with your mind.” Well, damn, Brian wasn’t quit far off with the psychic power angle.

“No, just thinking…deeply,” Dom tacked on, feeling confident that his answer was sufficient and believable. Mia waded through the crowd wearing an expression that was a one-eighty of Dom’s. “Oh, look, Mia’s headed over here.” Yeah, he was extra smooth.

“Dom,” Mia addressed with a cool smile that read _what is wrong with you_ but opened her arms to hug Brian and swing down to go almost nose to nose with Twink.

“See I was just about to tell Brian that you’d be coming over to check out Twink’s race gear since you couldn’t stop talking about it the other night.” _Sorry, Mana, I’ll owe you one after that bus I threw you under passes by,_ Dom thought, looking at his sister with expectant hopefulness.

The divine peacemaker that Mia was only grinned beatifically as she interpreted his convoluted Dom-speak to its literal translation: _SOS. Stop. Want to get away. Stop. Need on the fly babysitter. Stop. Love you. Stop.  
_

“That’s right,” Mia poured on the thick syrup of sisterly sweetness. “I couldn’t wait to see my favorite guys.”

“Thanks, Mia.” Smirked Brian with light sarcasm. “Nice to be appreciated.”

Mia motioned for Twink, who was one step ahead in the plan with his little arms spread wide open for Mia’s affection. Dom would swear it was not heat stroke when he saw Twink throw him a flagrant thumbs up before diving headlong into gnawing on Mia’s t-shirt.

“You’re always appreciated, Brian,” Mia declared as she bounced Twink lightly against her chest. “Just not as noticeable when you’re standing next to one or both of the cutest little guys in the whole world.”

Dom hid his chuckle in a red cup that had materialized in his fist. “Ouch.” Like damn, Mia. His sis wasn’t holding back.

“Catch you in a little while!” Mia tossed over her shoulder before her path was swallowed up by the mass of partygoers.

“So, let’s talk strategy.”

“Strategy?” Brian parroted.

“Yes,” Dom confirmed. “You and me.” He wagged in the space between them to illustrate his point.

Brian’s mouth open, stopped, and then transformed into a grin. “Let’s talk about that strategy then,” he conceded as his smile widened fractionally.

Inside the trailer, the music carried through softer and muffled while the sunshine remained uninvited by the drawn blinds covering the windows.

It would be so easy to turn the lock on the door and ignore the organized chaos on the other side of the three inches of iron, steel, and carbon body as if it were a universe away. The better angel on Dom’s shoulder reminded him that one pull on that door would bring up questions and speculation about what was happening on the other end. That gave him pause, if only for a second, as the devil on his shoulder also cared a lot but figured he could beat the odds. That same devil might’ve reminded Dom about the voice on the phone.

But Dom looked at Brian idling on his lazy perch who watched him back with a prism of unreadable thoughts locked behind his eyes. Dom counted only one Corona so far, yet the music in combination with a grin directed at only him rushed to his head with the potency of a few hard shots. Then that devil proudly uttered to him: _Fuck it, let it ride_.

Brian asked, “Did you close the garage for this?”

“Yeah.” Dom nodded back. “It’s an unofficial holiday. We celebrate with a party, except there’s a shorter guest list and a no returns policy on parts and labor.”

“Unofficial, Dom?” Brian snorted. “You got this thing packed with just about everything. This is like a tamer Thanksgiving. Just not as fun since there’s no turkey.” Brian had a point: there had already been arts and crafts, a shit ton of food to prepare, and two distinct tables—one for the twenty-one plus crowd and the other for the Mickey Mouse club.  So, there was a point.

Brian’s observation of the festivities started an electric tingle up Dom’s back. Like a breeze of anticipation.

“O’Conner, we’re not busters; of course we have turkey.” Dogs and burgers, too, since Mia had lobbied so hard for them. Dom drew the line at veggie substitutes.

Brian ducked his head down as he chuckled, a warm rasp that infected Dom’s sense of humor, causing him to follow behind. “Then I stand by our humble offerings, Dom, you might’ve softened me up with the turkey. But all of that can wait. You wanted to talk.” A sly edge charged Brian’s tone.  “So talk or are we just gonna gloss over you strategizing to get me alone?”

The last week had been different. Dom’s distance could be blamed on Race Wars, if he played the situation carefully. Leading up to today, Dom had been stuck at the intersection of Caught Up and (Mildly) Charged Up.

Dom deliberately sidestepped the point. “You’re really committed to becoming the King of the Smartasses. It’s not a good look for you, O’Conner.” Which was an absolute lie. Dom had yet to find a look that didn’t fit Brian well.

“You sure about that, Dom?” Obviously, Brian was still on the same wave of knowing as Dom. “I’ve got ambitions like everyone else, so if there’s a slot at the top I’ll go for it. Who wants to be the Prince of Dishes when you can be the King of Smartasses.” Just like that Brian scored a triple double in smartass points.

“Definitely.” Dom agreed.

Even if Dom wanted to bring up the source of his earlier turmoil, the words and the complicated emotions linking them felt far away—out of reach, like an unrecognizable flavor or the memory of a stubbed toe. He remembered but they didn’t bother him. He had no cares at all. Not when he was under the hypnotic power of Brian’s everything.

Brian had been looking out of a shuttered window at the party picking up outside. His voiced floated back to Dom as he continued watching, “This is the one time I’ll admit that I need to schooled, so hit me with a quick education: where are the traps, trips, or whatever that lead to lost cash, charges, or crashes?”

A mental apparition of Vince might’ve chortled while dropping the title of Mother Goose at Brian’s show of alliterative prowess. Dom shook off the mental intrusion.

Brian continued on, “I need to know cuz I don’t wanna be the one to break the rules.” Actually, a good point since none of them were known for their impulse control.

Dom crossed his arms over his chest as he took up a casual lean against a support pillar.“So, let’s talk strategy.” Dom started. “Don’t let anyone say we missed the opportunity:  there are plenty coming here tryin’ to make a name for themselves or just tryin’ to punch above their weight and hope for the K.O.” But usually got knocked the fuck out instead. “Those you can spot from a mile away. Y’know Hector, Edwin, and a coupla others—they try.” Phrased so diplomatically that Dom surprised himself.  “There’s maybe a crew or two from the Bay and NorCal--”

Now Brian looked surprised as he turned away from the windows. “That’s helluva trip, especially comin’ from bike territory.”

Shrugging in reply, Dom knew that the lure of Race Wars drew gearheads from all over with its promises of glory and cash.

“Not many super-heavyweights around. Only two that I can think of.” Dom rolled on, without acknowledging the sly assessment of Brian’s skills. Dom had to keep him hungry after all.  “We’ll run through ‘em pretty quick. But you’re right, there is one big ass trap that I need to warn you about, and that’s Johnny Tran.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about him. Never raced him.”

“Good.” Johnny had skills and money, the balance of which constantly shifted to earn him his wins. But the guy was a shark, plain and simple, and Brian needed to recognize that fact. “He’s good—in all ways that matter behind a wheel—but the cost of racing him is always heavier than the reward.”

Brian leveled an earnest yet concerned look at him. “I heard he didn’t play nice with others. How bad is it?”

Dom considered the serpentine nature of his head to heads with Johnny. “Better than a buster by miles, yeah, but Tran’s not meant to be a champ. Doesn’t tolerate the hard knocks well, so he’ll never learn from his mistakes. Instead he just throws cash at them.” And Trans had cash to burn. “We might’ve been close a coupla times.”

“Are you saying that he’s sniped you, too, when it’s been close?”

With his arms knotted over his shirt, Dom looked as immobile as a granite statue, a sentry against cheap tricks and general assholery. “I said _close_.” He paused. “Too close,” Dom relented, finally. 

“Right, and I’ll give you my close calls later. Now that we’re done with the education part, just give me your straight up advice. I’m open to it, so hit me.” Every time Dom recalled that this was Brian’s first Race Wars, he wanted to smile.

“Advice? I’ve got very little. Like Leon said: no sucker bets. Don’t get distracted by the pretty. ” There was a lot of that. Dom had to swallow his own advice given the amount of pretty in the room. “You’re seasoned, Bullitt, so I know you can handle yourself. Just feel for the sweet spot before you shoot.” A philosophy applicable to pleasure and peril.

The subtle eye scroll Brian gave Dom indicated that he wasn’t done thinking about the sweet spot. “I wouldn’t’ve made it this far if I got distracted easily, Dom. Just needed to know where the traps are and who likes to put’em out there. I think I’m good for now.”

“We’re not above the rules either. No sucker bets, O’Conner, and you’ll be fine. If I tell you to fall back, you do it.”

“And you’ll do the same?” Challenged Brian, eyeing Dom with a question of flexibility in his eyes.

Slowly but truthfully, Dom agreed with a curt nod. “You can’t go three feet out there without getting tripped up over an obvious thirst trap—cars or skirts.”

“Lucky for me, I only need to worry about one of those,” Brian imparted with maximum cheek. “Maybe better for you that I’ve been told at least a couple of times that I’m cool as ice.”

A beat of silence gave way to them laughing like the air had been replaced with nitrous. “Seriously, how long have you wanted to use that one, Frosty?”

“Since I heard Vince call me Mother of Dragons the last time I brought Twink and Tank to the garage. I promised to show him fire and ice if he kept running his mouth.” Emphasis added by shaking his fists, rubbing his knuckles together to make _fire_ and _ice_ meet.

The odds weren’t in Dom’s homeboy’s favor. “You’d really fight Vince?” Dom wouldn’t like it but he didn’t blame Brian if he did. There were many days when Dom wanted to smack Vince a good one, maybe, and Vince had been warned. So Dom vowed to break up the scrap if Vince deserved it; either way, the whole idea of Brian and Vince fighting was embarrassing.

Mostly, Dom lamented being surrounded—possibly being under siege by the latent geekery that was infecting everyone within reach. He almost felt let down that Brian wasn’t immune.

Brian’s grin dispelled his seriousness. “Naw, I’ll sic G and Suki on him and let them deal with it.”

“You’ll let the Baby Amazon and Sailor Moon handle your beefs.” Dom whickered in mock disapproval. “That’s the reverse of what big brothers are supposed to do.”

Grinning as he doubled down, Brian said, “Yeah, well, when the bench is deep, you’re supposed to use it. It’s not like I’m giving them a challenge that they can’t handle.” A childish part of Dom wanted to see how Double Trouble would take on Vince, but the voice of responsibility said deescalate this shit before the bail fund was ready. “Anyway, I think I’m set. How about you?”

“My Pop always said go with your gut, so far it’s the best bullshit detector I’ve got.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here.” Brian coolly boasted, then shifted his body into a looser standing sprawl, a stance that reminded him of the gravity-defying arches of palm tree spines as they swayed beneath the aura of golden sun.  “Not to get off topic but will I get a tour or is that too off-course? Just askin’ for a friend.”

On anyone else, the sass would grow old really quickly but like Brian’s everything, Dom found his habitual sarcasm and lip endearing. Almost helplessly so.

As a kid, the Gulf Stream had been huge and cavernous, containing a thousand and one places for Dom to hide his Hot Wheels and GI Joes—back when the kung-fu grip was no joke—and his Pop’s feet were constantly victimized by hard bits of plastic. “It’s not the Taj Mahal but I can show you the sights.”

“Alright.” Brian agreed.

Stepping into the center of the narrow trailer, Dom extended his arms proudly without being forced to touch the walls. He windmilled his arms to cover the spread of north and south. “Entrance and exit. We hit the hinges with a can’s worth of WD-40. So if there’s creaking or squeaking in this place, it’s not coming from the door.”

It was almost too easy. The small fire of mischievous light burned in Brian’s eyes as he saw the opening for the verbal shot that was possibly a mile wide, and pounced like the giant cat greedy for all the canaries. “So no creaking from the door, go it. But creaking from other things is still optional. Or is there a pause placed on that, too? Just checkin’ for that same friend, y’know.”

The delayed effect of Dom’s previous words landed as Brian began smirking. _Christ_ , Dom thought and was forced to keep moving, because Brian had once again spun his head around until he was looking at a foreign version of himself. Like now, that little remark about creaking things forced Dom to duck his head and rub the non-existent stubble on his cheeks to hide the sudden heat in his face.

Two could play at the game of being a smart ass. “Then tell your friend to come talk to me if they want details.” Brian’s uncanny ability to always catch him off-guard scrubbed away the last of the mental grit that weighed Dom down since last Friday night.

Dom continued the grand tour.  “Here’s the kitchen. Important to know because whatever’s not in the coolers outside can be found in here.” He opened the mini-fridge. “There’s space if you wanna keep stuff for Twink and Tank.” Earning him a smile as smooth as silk from Brian, but Dom didn’t let the positive attention faze him. “Open this cabinet overhead and you’ve got the kitchen table. But when it’s folded up you’ve just got more space to sit and chill.”

“Good to know.”

Dom backwards walked further into the trailer. “We upgraded the bunks, so we’ve got six now with enough stability to ensure that anyone who wants to crash won’t have to worry about falling on the people below them.” If they rolled off the shallow edge, then that was their issue. His Pop would’ve been proud of the elbow grease Dom had put into the trailer.

Now Dom squeezed into the narrow corner between two doors separating the halves of the trailer. “Now here’s the most important thing to remember,” he knocked on the door to his right, “this is the bedroom,” then hammered on the left one, “this is the bathroom. Don’t confuse them.” Mistakes happened especially when drinks were involved, but there were also moments that could never be lived down.  “Right and left don’t seem like an issue for you but you never know until you’ve had too many Coronas. Ask Jesse if you’re curious for the gory details.”

Brian inspected the room, eyes lighting quickly around the brief points of the sleeping space, finally settling on the bed. “I’m seeing a lot of close bonding over the next couple of nights.” Then made an approving gesture at the space, “I’m calling dibs on the corner in the back for the Pack N’Play.”

“It’s yours since you called it.” Solving the problem of where they’d put Twink and Tank.

The accordion door that divided the front two-thirds of the trailer from the bedroom whined as Dom leaned against it to allow Brian to pass. He watched Brian tour the room, eyes like fireflies lighting on many points but never staying longer than a second or two until he ended up on the opposite side of the bed, once again finding a position beside the window to recline.

Brian pointed to the bed. “Maybe we could get four in here—the girls, I’m thinkin’, cuz they’re skinny and go head to toe a lot easier. But with anyone else, that bed’s only getting double occupancy.” Definitely only two bodies under the sheets if Dom imagined what the configuration of the two of them would look like.

“Then we’ll be creative,” Dom heard himself say, then closed the partition before following the same meandering course Brian traveled to the window. “It’s too early to go to bed anyway.” His voice gone rough and cool like a desert wind, spoken like they weren’t alone and nearly chest to chest.

Dom appreciated how Brian found his grip on the corner of Dom’s shirt then under the cuff to hook his fingers into Dom’s jeans. The other hand comfortably cradled his cross, alternating stroking the loop of his chain to loosely clutching the figure. Done more dexterously than Twink’s earlier exploration.

Brian continued watching the course of his fingers as he spoke. “I haven’t told you enough that I like the way you think. Cuz creativity is something that I admire. And it’s probably the one thing that I have that never runs on fumes.” The direct decrescendo of Brian’s voice hit Dom low in his belly, spreading a tide of heat through every nerve as Brian continued to touch his chain without touching him. 

If Brian opened his legs and pulled Dom between his feet, then Dom was grateful for Brian’s inexhaustible well of creativity. Just a tip of the hips got them brushing against each other, already quickly climbing up from rest to want.

It dawned on Dom that this was not only his chance, but _the chance_ , to test the privacy of this space. Part of him wanted to be proprietary: swim up on Brian like in the pen, drop his chain around his neck and be done. It was a tag; one that he hoped Brian would accept. Then Dom remembered how good it felt to have Brian's mouth against his—with kisses soft and shockingly kittenish until Brian turned up the pressure like he was trying to devour Dom whole. But he was never off-guard for long, always had Brian begging when it was just Dom’s tongue giving him some attention.

In the distance, someone bumped the old T-Pain classic _In Love with A stripper_ which did not give them ironic pause.

Circular thoughts, at times bordering on obsessive, forced Dom to consider—and not for the first time—if O’Conner was actually real. Not some figment of his imagination conjured up because he’d been left too broken by Lompoc and his father’s death to distinguish reality from some constructed dreamscape of hidden desires.

“Brujeria.” Dom’s lips formed the word quietly against the warm skin of Brian’s neck. Another taste that Dom grew to like, to want, especially when out of reach.

A slow churn of the hips, grinding painfully slow over and over, electricity sparking when Brian slipped down to ride his thigh.  Dom slipped his fingers into the shallow beestings at Brian’s low back, the feeling of _just right_ jumping up his desire to touch, taste, and just fuck.

If Brian canted his head down so that the corner of his lips were exposed for a kiss, then Dom failed him by not sticking the landing. Another time, yeah, he wouldn’t need an invitation nor an excuse to bring them close.  He could pluck a handful of reasons from the air why later was better than now for a proper greeting.

So Brian bobbed his head, shifting away just enough to intimate that Dom would owe him one later, proving that Brian was still at the head of the class in his Dom reading skills.

Dom might have a healthy dose of paranoia thinking Brian could read his thoughts, especially about the past week in the searching glance that Brian sent him between teasing kisses. If his thoughts were broadcast across his face, then Dom would plow through driving this string of moments in a different direction, starting with one kiss, then a handful, and a final forward surge of the hips.

He could contemplate the bruises that he left on Brian. How easy they were to make. How Brian never said a word about Dom holding him too tightly. He loved that he didn’t have to worry about being too careful.

If Dom kept his hands grounded at Brian’s waist, he wouldn’t be tempted to ruck up his shirt to search for the unrepentant bee stings on Brian’s lower back that called out to Dom’s hands like aggressive traffic controllers. Being more responsible, Brian kept his hands, then his forearms, anchored on the crests of Dom’s shoulders.

Having Brian pressed so close to him at the moment thrust an unfortunate burden on Dom. Brian kissed enthusiastically—or shamelessly—with his full body melting into Dom’s.  Riding through full body kisses left Dom lightheaded, pleasantly drunk with an addictive tingle diffusing through the infinite layers of the universe to anchor them into this beautiful silence together.

Like the curves in a road, it was a natural transition from grind to grope, without a hitch moving into a quick ride that drew out noises of starved anticipation. With one thought, they dropped into a rolling rock with Brian riding Dom’s thigh like it would help him qualify for the final rally.

Locking his fingers into the hot swells of Brian’s generous ass, Dom flashed an errant smile, glad that he learned how to knead years ago; so pleased that he could apply his skills to better uses this time. His mind wandering as he squeezed hard, drawing a throaty moan from Brian—even though they were both almost at _that point_ —and hypothesized the bounce and shift generated by his hand coming down hard on that ass, and just how good it would be when Brian tightened up on him. Enjoying how Brian bit at Dom’s lips until Dom did it again.

Dom’s hand was poised to drop just as a bang resounded from the front wall, loud and heavy, like the sound of a body dropping hard, shattering the bubble of perfect understanding.

Brian withdrew from their common space. Breath coming out in a duck and run staccato. “I think…that’s the bell for…supervision.” His voice far from certain as he slowly stepped off the comfortable seat he’d made of Dom’s thigh while remaining attached.

There was a fragile _fuck supervision_ on Dom’s tongue but common sense in the form of his better angel won out.  “Yeah, let’s keep this civil. We don’t want to offend the Car Gods.” Plus, his dark jeans might cover the wet spot, but Brian was rocking traditional blue denim, and Dom would feel bad for leading him into a set-up for Rome’s merciless teasing.

Brian drummed his fingers across the rise of Dom’s traps. “Amen, Dom, Amen.” But he still hadn’t let go, just like Dom hadn’t either. “Anything else that needs to be said before we go out there? Major key alerts?” Brian asked with punctuating snickers. Going on the briefest of fishing expeditions.

Dom gave Brian’s hip a small squeeze. “Are you nervous?” Figuring that it shouldn’t be the case. Brian shook his head. “I’ve been told Bullitt’s like ice: hard and cold. Chilllest mofo behind the wheel—besides me, of course—a real racer rather than a stunter. A damn good getaway driver when the real Po-Po are on your ass. If that’s still true, then the only thing you need to do is drive.”

These rare ridges of uncertainty that peaked like bodies beneath the waves always left Dom clutching at nothing. The only time when Dom appeared too slow kept up. Just boxing with Brian’s shadows.

After a triplet of kisses, almost too sweet for Dom, he questioned Brian. “Let’s go through the check list to ease your mind.” Brian nodded in agreement. “How’re your eyes?”

“They’re fine.  I’ve got good hands, too.” Brian said.

“Great hands and the car?” Dom countered.

“It’s a great car.” Brian agreed.

“Better than great. It’s a true ten second car and a whip to make a real racer proud.”

Another series of thumps erupted near the door of the trailer. More like knocks this time instead of random bumps. Sensing that this was a natural end to their privacy, Dom led them through the trailer to the front door.

Before Brian could step around him, Dom snagged the inner cuff of Brian’s bicep. “Here, you can use these,” Dom offered the shades tucked into the short collar of his white tee.  The hugely disarming grin that Brian exchanged made Dom look away with a touch of fake cool. “Okay, put that away. Don’t thank me by blinding me now that I’ve sacrificed my shades for you.”

“I’m sure I’ll get you back somehow.” And Dom tried to keep his imagination from conjuring the many ways that Brian could pay him back and failed. Epically.

* * *

With the team expanded beyond the usual half-dozen, Dom found a deeper sense of understanding, and possible empathy for his Mami and Pop. Obviously, those Sunday afternoons after church that he remembered were rose-tinted. While Dom would be putting in the effort to feed their small army, he’d left the task of setting up the grill and assorted accoutrements to Letty and Jesse in an effort to preserve his sanity.

But for the moment, he and Brian were steeped in the time honored tradition of car talk with a slice of homeboy _chisme_. Edwin and Hector joined him and Brian for a perusal of the usual suspects that ran in the Echo Park scene and a couple of others that knew Brian and Rome from Watts.

They’d circled back to the nexus between the teams’ camps.

Hector stroked at his goatee as he considered the competition they’d peeped and came to a conclusion that made him laugh. “I gonna get rich this weekend, homes. Not sure ‘bout the rest of you but I’m thinkin’ some cough drops need to be dropped on this place, cuz I’mma leave a lot dust behind me.”

Dom considered Hector’s ability to rock flannel and baggy jeans like he was chilling on concrete sidewalks or in the desert as an inhuman ability. Hector’s laugh boomed. “I’ll be nice enough to send a get well card or two to those who take it badly. _Abrazos and besos from Hector M_.” Always going short because his last name was so long and twisting with syllables that he never pronounced it.

But Dom learned how to be cool in other ways. “Just pick your races wisely if you don’t want your friends to become new enemies. I know when I--” Dom tilted his head towards Brian, “when we’re running so if you don’t want your pockets to go too light then watch when you roll up to the line. I give discounts to friends at the store but not in races.”

“Don’t think that Edwin’s gonna be choking on your dust, exhaust or anything else.” Edwin’s eyes narrowed slightly, giving him the assessing glint of a hungry fox. He also had a bad habit of talking about himself in the third person, yet somehow failed to make the action obnoxious.

Edwin leveled a curious glance at Brian. “Edwin heard rumors about you picking up some new blood, but Edwin wanted to wait to see it for himself. So, what’s with the collab here?” Edwin asked in Brian and Dom’s general direction. “You tryin to assemble like the Avengers or some shit, cuz that’s distractin’ but not guaranteed to lead to the W.”

Dom felt the intangible prick of visual pressure on his neck as Brian fell back to defer to Dom’s response which was unexpected but reasonably appropriate. “I can’t speak for you but I like winning, so I’m gonna look at stats. Doesn’t matter if you win by an inch or a mile, winning is winning. Me and my crew only roll with people that have the same philosophy.” Dom cocked his head towards Brian. “How are you stats, Bri?”

Brian remained objectively calm despite the large energy drink can in his hand. “I rarely see taillights. My stats are good enough for me to say that I almost had you--”pointing at Dom “—and both of us know that it’s true.”

Cocking an eyebrow in his direction was the only rise that Brian would get out of him at the moment. “See.” But he’d remind Brian that like the love songs said: almost didn’t count.

Hector bounced his knuckles together as they lay across his chest. “That flag was tight. I’ll give props, Dom, and call it cool. I didn’t know you were into GOT. We got the hookup at the Gato Negro and watch on Sundays.” He tossed out good-naturedly. Generally, Hector was all chill and cautiously optimistic; the type of dude who looked like he would bang but was actually a workaholic and responsible. “You should roll through sometime.”

Dom shot Brian a look suggesting that Brian tell him later about this epidemic of nerdom that was spreading. “Sure.” Though Dom doubted he’d make good on the offer.

Hector stepped around Edwin. “Yo, you know my primo--”The urge to grin was wrangled through sheer force of Dom’s will, though Brian’s grin racketed upwards in the direction of manic. Hector’s wide family tree was notorious and ridiculously large. So trying to remember one of his _primos_ left nearly a hundred candidates. “—Chato? He just got out, like, a minute ago and we’re gonna have a catch and release party for him. Y’all should come through. It’s gonna be lit.”

“I’m always good for celebrating a return to good citizenry.” Brian said without hesitation.

Dom knew exactly how sweet the air tasted when free of barbed wire. “Just hit us when its time. I’ll be there.” He said.

The weeks after being put on papers had been a blur of parties across the neighborhood and hoods adjacent, though at the time Dom’s appreciation had been limited. Drinking and flirting too much kept him from thinking about the chill within cement walls, the constant whiff of old piss in the air, or the internal tremor triggered by the union of metal on metal.

His pocket vibrated.  When he pulled out his cell, _Rico_ , lit up the screen. Dom knew he’d kept his cuz waiting for the next shipment and finally had news to share. He tapped Brian on the bicep, then canted his head in the general direction of away before stalking off.

Dom swiped across the screen. “ _Oye, primo_ ,” Dom said into the phone. “ _Yo tengo los hechos del proximo corrido_.” Then went on to share the deets that Leon had given him regarding the next round of trucks coming out of the docks. Rico hit him with the usual list of high end targets with gas being number one on the list, followed by a staggered tier of electronics.

He followed up with the usual promises and planned to follow-up within the week with a solid schedule for the next shipment. “Una cosa mas, Dom. Dígame, ¿cómo está Leticia?”

 _Oh, brother_. His primo had always had a thing for Letty but had kept a respectable distance because she and Dom had always had a thing. Now, however, Letty was a free woman who could have any man or any man brave enough to step up to her. Rico was cool—and not just because he was family—Dom also considered him a friend, too, but dude wasn’t in Letty’s league.

Dom had never been one for subtlety, even less so in Spanish, so he switched back to English. “Listen, Rico, I could put you on, primo, but I’m not sure you can handle Letty. This is me lookin’ out for you--” and not trying to see his cousin eaten alive.

Rico laughed off the concern and made Dom promise to text him Letty’s digits, so that he could at least try his luck. Dom waffled on giving him a chance then ended the call.

Dom returned to the assembled trio just as a flock of a whole lot of pretty walked past. Of course, he watched the miles of legs and bright smiles stroll past on modified Converse and Timberland pointed heels. Edwin and Hector launched into making a few half-hearted attempts at getting their attention, but Dom hung back: just smiled when the attention was deflected back at him. He cut his eyes towards Brian discretely who was watching and grinning back but caught Dom’s look and volleyed a wink in truncated response.

Before, back during the time described as B. B. (Before Brian) in Dom’s head, race bunnies were his third favorite thing about the quarter-mile meets. Having a bunny on each arm put the extra shine on each win, even if Letty inevitably chased them away before it could go too far. But sometimes things went far enough to remind him of the incentives for being young, balling, and just devilishly handsome.

Taking a peak now felt… _wrong_. Like the electric twinge that followed hitting the funny bone. The games Dom had played with Letty didn’t apply with Brian. He honestly didn’t want to make the same mistakes.

A beauty with summertime dark hair and eyes kept looking back at Hector, who immediately caught the lust bug. Rumor on the street was that Hector was between girls right now.

Edwin threw out, “We’ll hit y’all up later.” Pulling Dom then Brian into one-armed hugs. “If you’re down for some real competition, you know where to find us.” Edwin co-signed joining Hector’s flirtation chase and flashed Brian and Dom a pair of deuces before following in the wake of Hector’s prospective lady love.

When they were alone again, Dom preferred to avoid the awkwardness of discussing any do’s or don’t’s, made all the more pressing by the questions that lingered from Friday night. So Dom avoided the treacherous thoughts and swerved in the direction of light and easy. “Who’s watching the twins today?

Brian extended the can of Nos to Dom who refused with a stern finger chop. “I made a deal with G and Suk: if they watch T-squared today, then I’ll take the night shift, as long as they’re back by one. Why, what’s up?”

“Just checking if you wanted any help.” Mostly because Dom felt clearer headed when away from other eyes.  It wasn’t like the twins cared one way or another. “Not that you can’t handle the two on one action, but I was thinkin’ another pair of hands couldn’t hurt.”

“I’ll make a deal with you: let the girls help you while you’re getting the food together and I’ll let you help me out later.”

“Trading one babysitting gig for another. Don’t think I don’t see what you’re playing at, O’Conner.”

Brian might’ve batted those pretty eyes at him. “All I’m sayin’ is six hands are better than two.”

“But two little sisters under foot means--”

Brian finished by saying, “Less to worry about.” Though neither of them really worried about the girls, there was easier breathing room knowing that they were still within arm’s reach.

They watched the flow of foot traffic while in between making comments here and there about the apparent competition and new upstarts that would have lighter pockets come tomorrow night. Just as Dom was ready to reel Brian back to their setup, Brian knocked his shoulder into Dom’s, leaning in to ask, "You recognize the puppy over there?" Brian pointed across the way.

The puppy was a twenty-something white boy who had a car that would look cute inside a Cracker Jack box but gave no clues as to whether it was really street ready. "Should I?"

"Yeah, you should. He was gunning for your attention at that meet-up a couple of weeks back before Rome's party. That meet on Skid Row? I guess he's got the paper to back up his bark this time.” As Brian explained the connection, Dom started to remember how the kid had chased his taillights acting like he’d done something impressive.  “Kid’s got no chill." Brian said after watching the kid a little longer.

Dom laughed at the irony of Brian's words. "Wasn't so long ago that you weren't trying the same thing when you were barking at me in the club to give you a shot."

Brian cut him a grin that's slow and teasing, the kind that suggested Dom should prepare himself for a kiss. "The difference, Dom, is that I actually know how to bite."

“Be careful,” Dom dipped his chin at the buster. “Someone’ll teach him that substance matters over style every time…if he’s lucky. We’ll chill either way.”

“I’m all about chilling this weekend. I’m one-hundred percent free and planning to live it up while I can.”

A free weekend was a rare occasion for Brian. “Congrats, should I ask how you swung getting the weekend?” As Dom recalled, Brian had worked every weekend since Dom had met him.

“Mostly by promising to hustle for the entire week. Just seven days with nothing but back to back grind.” Brian shrugged as if the promise of intense labor didn’t faze him. “Penning can be cool when you ask for a favor, just don’t get greedy and ask for too many.” Something that Dom stored away for the future. 

They eventually separated for a bit. Brian disappearing only long enough to wrangle Giselle and Suki into Dom’s general area; from the looks on their faces, that wrangling involved promises coupled with half-hearted consequences. The pair quickly fixed the twins up in a space that was adequate for response but far from enough from the heat of the grill and anything else that wouldn’t lead to accidents.

Giselle and Suki worked together to unfold and prop up a multi-colored canopy that fit perfectly over the mouth of Vince’s project. The sun blocker featured a variety of scene changes connected by a continuous road. Dom felt a warm tug at his heart as his face formed a genuine smile as he recognized a pair of GT-Rs on the winding road—one blue and silver and the other bubble bee yellow—as the road crossed desert, beaches, parks, mountains, and even space.

A long purple figure appeared to zoom ahead, an obvious rendition of the Ro-Machine featuring a cartoon text bubble over the roof with the words _Beep-Beep, coming thru!_ written in letters jagged like lightning bolts. As the inspection continued, Dom recognized Giselle’s bike, Vince’s Mazda, and every car belonging to their respective teams scattered somewhere throughout the dynamic scene.

When spotted the Charger, Dom had to admit that he was actually impressed. “This your work, Suki?”

Suki lifted her hot pink shades from her face to stick them in her hair, all the while beaming at Dom. She smoothed out the wrinkles on the yellow ringed planet at the center of the space scene, where the words _Planet Kickass_ were now visible.

“Yeah, you like it? I put it together to keep the sun off these little guys and give my skills a new test.” Suki’s confidence grew under his appraisal. “G and I have been hiding one that we made for Brian’s car. It’s totally got a psychedelic meets ocean vibe. But if you like the work, I’ve still got time to make one for the Charger before school starts.” Suki extended the offer with a hopeful air.

Dom’s style was uniquely  his own, but just as Mia and Jesse rode a different wave when it came to science and theoretical stuff, art existed in another nebula of thinking that Dom could see but didn’t dig into too deeply . “Sure, I’ll get you whatever supplies you need, just let me know when I should drop them by.” If the kid wanted to add some pretty to the Beast, Dom wouldn’t turn her down. “Now, we can gab and grill all we like but I’m pointing Rome in your direction if there’s no grub before sundown.” Dom had not signed up to babysit Rome and his delusions of starvation.

Giselle slid into Dom’s left, saying, “We’re here to cook.” While Suki cornered him from the right.

Dom looked to his respective corners without feeling a hint of claustrophobia. “No one cooks but me.” And Mia sometimes. Also, Han, too. But nobody else really.

“Well, we’re here to help so let us help.” Suki responded.

If Suki was earnest in wanting to help, then Giselle was bored and needed a challenge to keep her head focused, and she’d need to be focused if she was going lay hands on anything in Dom’s kitchen.  So, Dom went for the obvious carrot.

To Giselle, he instructed, “If you wanna duck out and just keep an eye on the twins by yourself, then I’ll get Han to step up. Dude’s a good cook, so this isn’t a challenge.” He gave her the obvious incentive for her to stick around and even if the five-year ban was in effect, Giselle’s previous reaction endorsed that she was definitely planning ahead.

She weighed his gambit with far too much seriousness for a middle schooler while the smooth mask of her beguiling baby face betrayed nothing. Dom vowed never to make Vince’s mistake of playing video games with her or poker; she had one helluva poker face.

As Dom set the burgers and hot dogs on the grill, Giselle inspected the selection and asked coolly, “Are you sure that’s enough? I mean, there’s Rome and Vince to think about, and then there’s everyone else.”

Dom left the calculations to Mia, who’d given him a stupidly ridiculous amount of food to buy for the weekend.  He’d seen the consequences of a hungry Vince and Dom wouldn’t test Rome’s vocal sensibilities either.  Bottom-line: they were prepared for this.

So Dom prompted, “Ever read Oliver Twist, G?” Giselle shook her head. “When you do, you’ll realize nobody around here’s gonna be begging for more, cuz there’ll be plenty.” Or, at least, Dom hoped so.

The little twitch of Giselle’s lips supplied an unspoken challenge of _We’ll see_ , a smartass gesture that clearly marked her as Brian’s baby sister.

With two additional sets of hands, the cooking went quickly and relatively without complications. Since Suki had proven herself capable of keeping her siblings fed, Dom offered her control of assembling the green and other non-packaged foods into something resembling food that his Mami would’ve been proud of. While Giselle stood guard over the chips and salsa, utilizing her glare for the good of the team by keeping stray hands, e.g., Rome and Vince’s, out of the stash. Twink and Tank pulled doorbell duty, mostly chirping happily when familiar company was in close proximity.

Dinner went smoothly, even if the space was tight, forcing them into an elbow-to-elbow configuration despite spreading out to sitting on the coolers as well. Even though Rome stepped up to say the grace, no one blinked when he dropped his shout-out to the Car Gods— _Thanks for letting us whoop ass_ —among other thanks before the amen.

Even the twins ended up shuffling from Brian and Suki’s laps to Mia and Dom’s while they ate. Both remaining cool with the situation. Only once did Tank sneak his little fingers under Dom’s guard to palm a handful of beans for himself, his onesie, and his hair. He was messy but at least the kid had good taste.

Clean up duty fell to slowest trio to fail to call _not it_ , meaning Rome, Jesse, and Vince. As a bystander, there was nothing fascinating about tossing plates and the barely there carcasses of burger buns but the conversation was fascinating.

Dom imagined that he was watching an actual game of verbal ping pong as Jesse and Rome lobbied assorted words back and forth.

Jesse said, “Pac-Man.”

“Sonic.” Rome shot back.

Then Jesse replied, “Cheeseburger.”

“Cheeto.”

“Dragon.”

“Slimer.”

Vince pulled up beside Dom then watched in silence for a solid minute before grousing, “What the hell are they talking about?” Vince turned to Dom with maximum confusion scrawled across his face. “Screw it, I don’t even wanna know what that’s about.”

Brian had come out of the trailer with a clean Tank on his shoulder and ambled over to Dom and Vince. “So you know what any of that means?” Dom asked him. “Because that was a string of nonsense to me.”

Brian shifted Tank around so that he could watch the headlight flashes and laser show from the stage on the other side of the hanger. “Trust me, this isn’t too bad. I heard ‘em talking earlier, and this is a game of ADHD tic-tac-toe. Like free association. I don’t know how you win, but it’s kept Rome outta trouble so far, so I’m game to be a cheerleader or whatever.” Interesting, Dom thought. Another clue to fill in the picture of the intricate parts that composed the family dynamics.

“Yeah, you would have a pair of pompoms.” Vince muttered below his breath before snagging a pair of empties off the table.

“Vince.” Dom warned.

“Fire and ice,” Brian replied while waving Tank’s fist in Vince’s direction. To sweeten the threat with an icy smile.

Vince did stiffen as if hit by both elements. “Whatever, catch you later.” Then slunk off to finish his dish duty without upping the O’Conner Crew payback.

Once Vince resumed collecting bottles elsewhere, Brian continued explaining, “Rome’s definitely hyperactive without the benefit of having the mad genius skills to give him some leeway like Jess. So things have been tough for ‘em. Made our time in Victorville even worse.”

Dom weighed whether or not he would press for more. He knew Brian would give up the circumspect details but never delivered the full story. Often, it seemed that Brian reversed the course of the conversation when pushed too hard.

Getting juvie in Victorville was a bad stint anyway. The baby pen had the notorious distinction of offering up less rehabilitation and more metamorphosing of its charges into the anti-social and attention starved cretins that haunted dark alleyways and street corners that the good public worried about so much. But Brian seemed generally well-adjusted despite his time there. 

Before Dom could scratch at the itch to probe for more intel, Brian shifted his attention towards the muffled thumps and electronic warble coming from the other side of the air hangar. “Wanna field trip with us? I’m thinking these guys are owed a little something special for putting up with the random hand-offs and a night away from home. We’re gonna take the long way around, just go nice and slow for once, and check out the colors.”

A constellation of events fitting the criteria of _nice and slow_ nictitated through Dom’s mind, making him wonder if he’d always had sex on the brain this much or if this was another change that could be contributed to the mysticism of Brian O’Conner.

“Yeah, I’m up for taking a walk.” He could always use another round of fitness, even though he’d gotten some sets in that morning and a few rounds of the ups: pull, push, and sit-ups before they’d left for the desert.  Working out was the one anger remediation skill that he’d kept from Lompoc. “My recommendation for this voyage is to stay down wind.” For the twins’ sake and their own. Driving after a night of catching a potent high wouldn’t help their pockets or their reps.

Brian offered him an appreciative grin. “Thanks for looking out, Dom.”

The trailer door opened once more to reveal Mia climbing down the short steps with a chortling Twink in her hands. Brian had already shouldered his trusty all-purpose twins survival backpack, so Dom stepped around him to accept Twink from his sister.

The little smirk on her face spoke volumes as she handed Twink off. “Very fresh and clean. Twink’s ready to party with the big boys.” The kid liked her words of approval and replied with his own gummy grin. “Have fun, boys.” Mia tickled Twink’s tummy then Tank’s but stopped short of leaving, only to sneak in a sharp poke to Dom’s sensitive navel.

Rumors of the peculiar sound that Dom made as a result of the attack needed to be terminated with the efficiency of the T-1000. “Be good, Mano!” Mia’s laughing crackled as she scurried off to avoid his reach.

Dom shook off the sudden attack, rolling his eyes as Brian laughed none too quietly at Dom’s struggle. “Yuck it up, O’Conner. See what happens next time you’re under siege by one or both of Sister-Sister.” Dom took great care to avoid any assaults that vaguely resembled tickling. His Pop said every man had an Achilles heel—and shit, Dom’s was located at dead center.

From the western corner of the desert, the sun languidly descended to rest behind the mountains, bringing up the slurry of twilight to clash with the lights from the rainbow of cars and pulsing electronics below. “You’re too noble to leave me to the wolves, Dom.  Just not your style. Definitely more the _ride or die_ type. I’ve seen your big teeth and know all ‘bout your bark, and it hasn’t put me off yet, so I think it’s not gonna start now.” Brian’s bittersweet delivery of compliments bled into shit talk just as the sun set making him look terrifyingly pretty in spite being an unrepentant smartass. “But I’m personally a fan of your huffing and puffing.”

Even if Dom acknowledged that he knew shit all about art and technique, savoring this moment carried the significance of being in audience to one of the Seven Wonders of The World. Only made more unique by Dom being the only witness. “Save the nursery rhymes for the twins’ bedtime. Right now, we’re walking. No more lip. No more teasing.”

Insert Brian’s cocksure smirk wet by the briefest escape of tongue. “It’s like you don’t know me at all, Dom, cuz I never tease.” O’Conner was a filthy liar. The worst kind of liar. Because he was teasing Dom into being in an inappropriate state with his suggestive talk. “Let’s roll then.” Then Brian started moving.

The walk was as close to a leisurely stroll as it got for Dom. Their conversation flowing easily between periods of silence disrupted by the echoing woof from opened trunks and the slurred beats between melodic drops from the DJ’s booth perched high on the hangar’s front stage.

As they walked, they pointed out mods that made the brief list of impressive additions while most were left to the mercy of their vicious critiques. Being that young and mechanically naïve seemed so far removed that they could laugh and criticize through the tunnel of twenty-something wisdom.

The challenge of taking such a stroll involved avoiding collisions with any number of early revelers, sacrificing various spots on Dom’s white tee to inferior beers and alcohol-infused _dranks_ to keep Twink splash-free, or sidestepping various pre-gaming detritus. The blinking neons from the stage and the scattered winking lights held between teeth and waving glow sticks were perfect entertainment for the less than a year old contingent.

The fact that Dom no longer held any reservations about holding Twink or Tank correctly boosted his confidence. Only proving to himself just how universally awesome his array of skills had become.

Scattered nods of respect reached them from compatriots who also were attempting to get through the Race War weekend family style. Those slow nods of understanding were laden with respect and an empathy that only real adults could understand. While Dom accepted this acknowledgment, he failed to feel old, and definitely far removed from the seemingly inimitable maturity that his Pop had possessed.

The easiness didn’t last long as _it_ happened again. Now they found themselves corned by a five pack of race bunnies that got stuck on them like glaze on donuts.

“Your baby’s so cute.” A redhead bunny cooed as she reached out to touch Tank’s cheeks, Brian shifting away subtly as the hand came forward.  “Just so cute.” Her long dark eyelashes beat out a signal in Morse code in halting sequence: _And you’re cute, too._

A pair of busty brunettes with tattoos that dripped downwards from the shoulders into the tops of their cleavage curled their glossy lips at Dom and Twink. The taller one, wearing micro-versions of denim everything, looked at Dom from tip to toe and grinned broadly red from his northwest. “Your son looks just like you.” He heard Brian’s audible choking-snicker. “Cute like his daddy.” Definitely a strike and a miss from where Dom stood.

The café au lait brunette at his northeast wielded big brown eyes that might’ve made Dom fall into bed a happy man, made only happier by the promises whispered by her extra plush lips. “This little man’s definitely gonna be a heartbreaker, but Papi doesn’t have to be one if he asks nicely.”

Following Brian’s lead, Dom politely blocked any attempts to touch Twink. Mia’s emphatic insistence on the extra handwashing and bleach wipes around the shop coming to mind now that strangers with hands that had been God knows where were trying to mingle their germs or whatever with the twins.

Brian was not defenseless in the least. He unveiled one of his four-alarm panty soaker grins that got him showered in torrents of bills on the regular to each of the beauties in their path. “Raincheck for another night, maybe? I don’t think you’d like us so well if we let our little buddies stay up too late. Just one of the downsides of being responsible.”

This elicited an obligatory purr of _responsibility is really sexy_ from the petite blonde who was number three in the group.

Dom picked up the thread Brian was weaving, turning up the volume on the Toretto charm to save face and his rep in equal measure. Definitely not ready to send out a mental SOS for Letty to beat back the skanks that she would undoubtedly smell circling them.

“I never like breaking promises, especially when it comes to a good party, but I gotta agree with my friend. We’re just not those guys for you tonight, but--” Dom pointed in the general vicinity of where Hector and Edwin’s crews were posted up for the night. “Just look for the gold Honda Hatchback.” Forging on to stamp out any hate thrown the Hatchback’s way. “Trust me, Hector’s the only dude who I know who can make a Hatchback look cool and be a _winner_. But if you can’t find him, then my other bruh, Edwin, will keep you company. He’s got an Integra with a red and yellow body kit. Tell ‘em Dom sent you by.” Then he turned up the wattage on his own elusive grin that took him from a turn towards boyish into roguish territory and watched the panties literally fly away on the wind.

They continued along the outer loop of the rave scene. A distance satisfactory for not bothering the twins’ ears but nonetheless close enough to get immersed in a group of ravers rolling on what Dom suspected was Molly with mini LED lights clenched between their teeth as they writhed to the electronic harmonies streaming from the stage.

When they were back to being down wind of the ravers where the air was just quiet enough for conversation, Dom decided to clear the air a little. He could tell they were closing in on home base when they passed the trio of cars with the images of Saint Guadalupe, Saint Suyapa, and the Virgin Mary stenciled on the inner surface of their hoods in majestic colors and textures as a show of devotion to those On-High for the skill to win the next day.  

He was getting better with shelving his doubts about his Pop or Mami’s reaction to this situation if they were still around. Just decided to let it ride since the strategy had worked so well to this point.

Admitting that he didn’t know how to approach the situation left a bitter taste in Dom’s mouth. Yet, Dom couldn’t see any other way to approach his disquiet than a non-straight approach, pardoning the irony of his thoughts. “I don’t want you to think that I was disrespecting you. Y’know back there, I mean.” Dom rushed to clarify.

No offense was taken to the sideways looks Brian was sending his way. “What are you talking, Dom?”

Sharp easily described Brian as did smartass when the occasion struck but obtuse didn’t crack the top ten in Dom’s estimation. Trying to explain where he was coming from felt like all Doms’s words—English, Spanish, and the sparse Italian ones—had gone dry on his tongue.

Dom’s gaze remained deliberately ahead. “I wasn’t checking out those girls or flirting out of habit. I wouldn’t disrespect you like that.” He would cop to peer pressure rather than directly acknowledge the tenuous position that his actions could place him in.

There had been too many blanks spaces within the rules of his relationship with Letty, allowing him the wide margins to drive in the dirt and make tracks to other places, mostly beds when he should’ve only been in one.

“Dom, I know where we are right now, and definitely remember who we are and how we roll. I’d never ask you to jump outta plane or off a mountain for me. That’s not how these things work. Actions mean a helluva lot more to me than words, Dom, and so far, yours have been golden.”

Dom felt marginally better, a quarter less tense, but still held that unresolved knot in his gut that demanded that he steam on to clear the air. “I fucked up a lot before…with Let. Too many times to have made it worth it for her. Too many times when I knew I hurt her. And I don’t want to make the same mistakes again.” _Didn’t want to be that man again._ “Don’t want you to think it’s a pattern with me rather than a past flaw.” Maybe, time had given Dom a little room to be more circumspect, given that there were other factors—or people, to consider.

 “If you’re asking if we’re going steady, Dom, I’ve gotta remind you that you forced that issue a couple of weeks ago.” Brian stated seriously, then went to add, “Remember Leon hooked us up with that meet on Skid Row, then we went back to your place to chill. You weren’t being subtle stepping around the issue then.”

“I remember,” Dom answered quietly. “I just wanted to be clear about what was happening right now.” Trying his best to avoid Dom’s unease becoming Brian’s unease as well.

Brian made an understanding gesture as they continued walking. After a while, Brian spoke, “I get it. I do. But if you disrespected me, I’d let you know it, Dom. There’d be no doubt that I’d let you know.” Steel threading Brian’s tone as he delivered a blanket ultimatum. A sigh escaped loosing Brian’s end of the tension. “I’ve got flaws and fuck-ups too, Dom, and I know where each of them is buried. I don’t need to dig them up just to examine every detail of my past failures. I carry them with me every day either way.” Brian exhaled tensely. “We’re so good right now, Dom, that you probably don’t believe me. But we’re good—no, great. Just don’t do the major don’ts and we’ll stay that way.” The major don’ts being: _don’t cheat, don’t lie, and don’t hurt each other._

Brian stepped just slightly out of alignment to pull out of Dom’s periphery, now positioned in his path, for his last declaration. “I’m cool with slow, probably for the first time since never. Happy with it even. Maybe I need it just as much as you do.” He shrugged like he was once again carrying the world across the breadth of his shoulders. “I finally learned how to wear my big boy pants when I realized that fast might get you what you want but slow gets you want you need.

If they were surrounded by privacy instead of too many wandering eyes, Dom would’ve pulled in Brian for a kiss. All heat and wetness until he could feel the graduation of temperatures oscillating from joy to cold. Kiss Brian with enough pressure while riding the slow, steady wave until he could pull at the thread that held them together. Pull it taut until Dom could be certain that Brian would not be able to leave him.

Fuck, he was so far gone on O’Conner that it was sickening.

Twice bitten but still not shy. Friday night’s voice haunted Dom’s thoughts like a vengeful shade. Dom knew all about fuck-ups, though the consequences of those fuck-ups Brian mentioned had been drilled into his bones like a reverse marrow. Mystery man’s role in those disasters was far from certain, but Dom’s gut didn’t feel wrong in suspecting that he’d played a role in making Brian this complex mystery box of a person. After all, Brian liked everyone—with a few exceptions, of course.


	15. thirteen, pt. II ( In control)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race Wars continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.
> 
> Title from The Glitch Mob's [Between Two Points](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iaisDkR8Qg).
> 
> A/N 1: Music is very important in this chapter. I’ve embedded links to the songs on YouTube where they appear in the fic. I highly recommend giving these songs a listen when they’re referenced. Eventually, I’ll have a playlist compiled for the story on the series page.  
> Songs of significance in this chapter:  
> [California Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HaTgQkG3Mmc)—Dr. Dre and 2Pac  
> [California](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pYdoQ6DZ3F4)\- Colonel Loud, T.I., Young Dolph  
> [Wild Thoughts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fyaI4-5849w)\- DJ Khaled ft. Rihanna, Bryson Tiller  
> [Trophy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OSdUDEHL4sQ): Charli XCX  
> [Pursuit of Happiness](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Z_Ys3BO_4M)-Kid Cudi  
> [Crank That](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UFIYGkROII)\- Soulja Boy  
> [Move For Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8nXAj3X8UJI)-Kaskade, deadmau5  
> [Horses](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMimIZJiMp0)-PnB Rock, Kodak Black, A Boogie Wit da Hoodie  
> [All Of The Lights](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAfFfqiYLp0)\- Kanye West  
> [I'm in Control](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NSdcG1e9APE)\- Aluna George  
> [Human (Marian Hill Remix)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7jMM_yDuhS8)-Aquilo
> 
> A/N 2: This chapter was divided into 2 parts. Updated story tags will appear when I post the next chapter. **Warning: vulgar, homophobic language, gendered slurs**
> 
> A/N 3: The warning from the last chapter stands: _This chapter was by far the most interesting one to write. Dom’s thoughts ride a rollercoaster of emotion here. Honestly, I thought this chapter was pretty scattered as I wrote it, but after multiple reads, it feels like a fulcrum: many emotions or experiences that have been referenced in earlier chapters reappear here with forthcoming consequences. Frankly, Dom is spinning inside a storm of feeling—some good, others bad or toxic, but he’s full of emotions that he’s trying to sort into the image of who he feels he is and who is expected to be. All of which is complicated by his attraction to Brian and his inability to compartmentalize him. And, also, Lompoc. Never forget Lompoc. So, be aware that Dom will be messy for a while._
> 
> A/N 3: Questions about slang I’ve used, please visit urbandictionary. FYI.
> 
> A/N 4: Issues with masculinity abound! There are some superficial exploration of the Masc 4 Masc versus Masc for Femme elements. Toxic masculinity abounds!
> 
> A/N 5: If you’ve read my other works, then it’s obvious that I love a good crossover. So if you take a gander at the Just The Motion verse summary, then the inspiration for this verse is listed. The full playlist is on Spotify. 
> 
> A/N 6: Thank you for your patience and dedication to this story. To everyone who has commented on the story, I appreciate the feedback. Please don’t hesitate to drop some concrit, questions, suggestion, kudos, etc. Every communication is valuable to me. I repeat: this is massive WIP, so I understand being cautious optimism. Any encouragement is appreciated when trying something new. This fic has survived 2 years in graduate school, a new job, a move across the country, huge responsibilities, and severe depression. Thank you to everyone who has ever commented, nudged me, or gave this fic a try. 
> 
> As always, concrit is appreciated and enjoy!

Of course they returned to a shit show.

Dom expected Rome to be at the center of the chaos, but it’s Jesse’s voice that picked up Dom’s pace.

“This doesn’t have to be ugly. There’s plenty of space to c-chill a-and p-party for everyone. So, let’s just be simpatico—or whatever instead of the staring and bad touching and…” Jesse trailed off nervously as the big damn reason for his stuttering loomed in his face. 

As Dom did a sweep of the scene, the dominoes fell into place, revealing what had transpired, and clearly it was far from good.

The confusing thread of anger and fear danced between the network of muscle, tendon, and bone which gave him strength. Giselle looked barely contained, a mask of fury distorting her delicate features into hard angles like knives ready to be exacting.

When the dogs played, the wolves always circled the sheep.

Johnny Tran drove Jesse back step by step. Nose to nose. But he wasn’t alone: Lance, his not on the low loco cousin was his back up. And Mia stood as back-up for Jesse.

Of course he wanted to charge into the situation, but his hands were occupied, though that didn’t stop Brian, who surrendered Tank to Giselle in a sloppy handoff that was saved from disaster by sheer reflex or possibly telekinesis.

Brian blockaded his sisters, Mia, and Jesse. “Back up, now—not later, right the fuck now.” This was Bullitt stepping in without a trace of Brian to be found.

Dom snagged Mia away from the standoff to hand off Twink.

Johnny cut Brian a disingenuous smirk as he sized him up. “Didn’t know you called dibs?”

“She’s my sister, asshole.” The frequency of Brian’s anger was tuned to murderous, and rightfully so.

There was a ledge that Dom followed now: one side fell into fighting and the other treaded with caution.

“Your sister?” Johnny tossed a smirk over his shoulder which Lance caught and broadened into a malicious spectacle of teeth. “Ah, I see the resemblance.” Shaking his head, Johnny tacked on, “I wasn’t expecting that. I guess she’s a natural blond. Can’t wait to find out if I’m right.”

Now Dom stopped Brian from lunging with firm grasp on the back of his shirt. Johnny cocked his head at Dom. “Who’s this? Your new community mouth piece?”

Dom responded with a stiff, “My mechanic and teammate,” while keeping Johnny and Lance squared up like he was the one that they should be worried about taking the big lunge.

Johnny would be someone Don liked but he's a shark--vicious but Lance gave him an animal reaction. Made his hair stand up by the ends and prepare to fight. A feeling that reminded him of Lompoc because it was full of predators. Don didn't like the look in Lance's eye.

Johnny played up the mocking sincerity as he opened his arms towards Dom. “Just trying to be hospitable before the dawn. It’s been a while, Toretto, and I figured we needed to have a chitchat. I mean, we’re friends right? And friends definitely share with their other friends.” He looked over at Suki again. “Or, am I the only one who remembers how good our friendship used to be?”

They were never friends, and the longer Johnny talked the more he baited Dom into reacting. Even worse was how Dom knew Brian could react. “Friendship goes both ways and the last time I checked friends helped friends steer clear of jailbait.” Dom’s eyes flicked from Lance to Johnny, anticipating that his next words would trigger a reaction, just not knowing what kind. “How’s your sister by the way?”

Johnny approached Dom even though it would be impossible to surmount the human walls of Toretto-O’Conner then back-stepped carefully. “Not heartbroken over you.” Johnny barely bit back a snarl.

“Good.”

Johnny remained keyed up into neutral, silently grinding his teeth as he continued the silent war of wills with Dom. If anything those descriptors made the appearance of Johnny’s grin more ominous.

When Dom turned away, first to create more space between the factions, and secondly, to marshal Brian into a mindset that didn’t include murder, Dom knew that he was making himself vulnerable to the weight of eyes on his back. The heavy prickle seared across his skin without him reacting to it. The last people who should ever be placed behind him were Johnny or Lance.

Johnny snapped at Dom’s back. “We need to talk.”

“Tomorrow then.” Dom agreed, mostly ready to make Johnny get gone. It was weird standing here feeling like he was in a déjà vu vortex. One of the few times when prison had served up some valuable life skills as Dom easily kept Johnny and Lance on his radar, and decisively concluded that Lance was by far the more dangerous of the two.

Dom stepped into the gulf with the swell of Brian’s freezing tsunami in front him and the reptilian cunning of the Trans behind him. “This is me being nice, Johnny. You wanna talk racin’—cars, headlights, even bikes, then I’m game, but right now I think it’s best if you go back to your cars, and party a little bit. Do something so you can sleep off any bad decisions you’re prepping to make.” Or make other people and Dom’s fists commit.

From the corner of Dom’s eye, he saw Johnny bob his head approvingly as Lance spoke inaudibly into his ear, making a show of sizing up their collection. “Cute cars, by the way. I can’t decide which one I’ll snatch up tomorrow. I could use another toy, even if some of them are obviously not worth my time. It’s just too hard not to plan ahead.”

Dom knew bait when it was dangled in front of him tempting him to take a bite. Nope, not this time.

So, he repeated his offer. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

With Suki back in his line of sight, Johnny extended a smarmy offer. “If you wanna continue the party, you know where to find us. I promise to have you back by curfew. Or maybe, I’ll give you driving lessons and show you how to handle a real stick.”

Brian was gone from Dom’s side in less than the expanse of a breath. He’d stepped up to Johnny, head rearing low and eyes flat and dark—deadly like a snake angling to strike. “I wouldn’t bet on it,” Brian said as flat and cold as a desert stone.

Again, Johnny tried to roll the sweet over the sourness of his intentions. “Don’t worry about your sister.” His voice crackled with laughter. “Little sister? That definition must be evolving because I don’t see anything little about her.”

Dom steeled his arm to keep Brian from leaping across the space to pounce on Johnny Tran, even if a part of him wanted Brian to do it badly, and would gladly join in the melee. The bigger head knew that terrible consequences awaited when Johnny Tran was involved.

Johnny squinted at Brian, working his jaw as he contemplated Dom’s resolve like it was one of Mia and Jesse’s hypothetical equations. “It really has been a good bit since our last meet. Never expected you to cool off and become a peacekeeper.” Johnny huffed rudely. “It’s like you’re on some zen-shit—which I can respect even if it doesn’t look that authentic on you, Toretto. Try a rosary next time if you want some peace.”

Johnny and Lance erupted into a pair of off-sync dry chuckles, ending in a small glance that ratcheted up Dom’s bullshit defector. One last inspecting glance at Suki, then Tran dropped, “You should take your own advice and get some sleep, because after I bag my new car, you might not be feeling too well after our conversation.”

Then they faded back into the stream of foot traffic, the arrogant ebb and flow of their laughter being swallowed up by the crack of fireworks and DJ scratches on turntables.

Eyeballing each member of the two teams assembled in the wake of Johnny and Lance’s departure told Dom one thing: No one was dry snitching.

Brian shifted to stand at his shoulder, now putting them deliberately across a distinct line of adulthood versus fleeting better judgment.

Brian beat him to the start of the inquisition. “So now that the jackals are gone, anyone feel like explaining what the hell just happened? Last time I checked House Rule Number Seven said we only start shit when we can back it up. And that didn’t look like any of you--”Said with the narrow tone of  _I could take on the whole world right now and never slow down_ brokering no interruptions,  “—could’ve handled that situation going anywhere else other than where Dom and I kept it. So, I’m waiting. Talk.” Brian ordered.

There were a lot of averted eyes and sheepish looks but no takers on the talking front. So Dom offered a solution to the stalemate, “I’ll take mine and you lock yours in the Gulf Stream. We’ll be out here, so if you have any runners, they’re not getting far.” Though he wouldn’t put it past Giselle to shimmy out of the bathroom window if cornered.

He translated Brian’s fleeting eyebrow lift _as you sure you’re fast enough_ and replied with a silent nod. “Deal’s on then.” To his assembled siblings, Brian said, “Twink and Tank are riding the bench. That means everyone else needs to start running or else.” Like Dom already had realized: Brian went sub-zero when pissed.

The total of Dom’s two cents came down to a clipped: “Mia. Jess.” Which conveyed a broad spectrum of _start talking now or else._ Aside from the salty looks from Lance, everything else felt, well, familiar. A quick mental shuffle answered how. The déjà vu didn’t end there: his Pop and Mami had been a united front who’d entertained an infinite number of conversations via a solitary look alone.

Brian waited at the bottom of the steps for his sisters to climb inside, each carrying a twin and defiantly not looking Brian’s way. A grain of pity found its way under Dom’s thicker and wiser older brother armor, just large enough for it to chafe at him and keep the entire exchange on his mind, including the various conversations that were looming. 

Before Brian could kick off the royal rumble beyond the door, Dom called out, “Bri, we’ll have a conversation, too.” Promised Dom before Brian crossed the threshold of the trailer.

First Brian nodded, then said, “See you on the other side,” then slammed the door.

* * *

Somehow, Dom found himself as the last man standing after their amateur game of Good Cop, Bad Cop. Unsurprisingly, he and Brian had worked well together. Even if their partnership had only tested their skills in Brow Beating 101, they’d managed to pass. If the situation hadn’t involved Johnny Tran, then it could’ve used one of Roman’s hilariously inappropriate innuendos about foreplay to skim some of the seriousness away.

Dom had ended up alone, mostly checking under his hood, after Mia and Jesse gave him a recap of how the confrontation had started. Being engrossed in his car was an expected reason to linger outside for a few extra hours, but Dom’s gut warned him that Johnny wasn’t done causing shit. So Dom waited, wanting to be as ready as possible for the sequel, should it pop in the eventuality of sooner rather than later.

He’d entered the Gulf Stream silently thanks to that can of WD-40. His brief walk from front to back made him proud that everyone had made the unofficial curfew.

Dom lingered over the massive puppy pile in the bedroom. Dom’s eyes immediately found Brian buried beneath the scrum of arms and legs. Of the sandwich of bodies,  Mia made up the second to last layer closest to the wall where Letty was angled low and tight, still wearing her shades despite the comfortable darkness of the trailer. Suki and Giselle were stacking down Brian’s shoulder and stomach while Rome stubbornly hugged the edge of the bed, masterfully planting his socked heels inches away from the back of Brian’s scalp.

Vince, Tej, and Leon were sprawled over the too tiny bunks that looked as flimsy as cardboard beneath the bulk of three full-grown men. Even the Roadrunner had to wind down sometime, so it was no surprise that Jesse was nestled down in front of the electronic schematics of their cars on his laptop. The screen’s light flickered off the cans of _Monster_ and _Nos_ that only seemed to perk up Jesse like a multivitamin did for the average person.

Dom didn’t want to disturb the large and tight puppy pile, so he stepped back towards the door, carefully avoiding shoes, beer bottles, and other pitfalls on his way out. Even Vince’s usual freight train snore was muted to a minimum.

“Baba rara baba ra-da…” Twink gurgled quietly from the pen he shared with Tank.

Dom reversed his course to return to the bedroom. Though Dom couldn’t interpret that string of babel worth a damn, he opted for the safe option of just picking Twink up to align their common interests.  “Just you and me, Kid.  You’re getting a real head start. Maybe, the only exclusive you’ll ever need: all of the tricks for really driving a car.” Dom murmured once they were clear of the obstacle course and just shy of the door. 

Dom looked back at the quiet scene, instantly cementing the moment deep into his mental trunk that carried the heft of memories—good and bad—and every tool that got him this far.

Despite the hour, girls still sauntered through the sandy lane in front of the Charger and GT-R, mostly cooing _adorable_ , _so cute_ , _how sweet_ , as they soldiered on since Dom didn’t give any of them the opportunity to catch him.

He secured Twink against his shoulder to give the kid the best look at the car’s heart and accepted the excited cheek pats as a show of thanks. Picking out where to begin was easy, but the flood of memories tethered to his father shifted his gears, unspooling slowly as if no time had passed. Dom stared wistfully through the windshield at the steering wheel that used to seem too large for his hands with pedals too far for his feet to ever reach.

With the hood popped, Dom pointed to the engine and recited his Pop’s words. “The first thing you need to know about a car is that the respect you give it will equal the respect you earn from it.” The words had never fit until now.

For a moment, Dom was years away, being held up by his Pop in a similar fashion. To Twink, he said, “He swore he used to take me out like this. Pop swore I came out with a wheel in my hand.” Lowering his voice, Dom attempted to whisper to Twink who rolled his large eyes up at Dom, “Don’t tell anyone that he used to put me on his lap and let me cruise long before I could reach the pedals.” Twink whipped his arm about in an easily comprehended expression of _okie dookie_.

The hood popped all the way up to block out the ghosts from thousands of miles ago. “When you’re big enough, your brother will show you how to reach the pedals, but I’ll show you what to do when you do.” Twink accepted Dom’s promise with a grin and gripped Dom’s finger to shake on it.

* * *

Han snacked on a green pepper with the same laziness as the morning’s start.  Between bites, he said, “Paper plates and red cups: the perfect morning after breakfast.” Han had arrived early that morning, after deciding to forgo a night of tight quarters for the certainty of a private bed and shower at home.

“What do you know about the morning after?” Dom squinted teasingly at Han, whose age was still not quite clear to Dom despite him being in a couple of Mia’s classes.

“I know enough about the things I need to know about, which mostly include girls, fast cars, and good eating. With those things being the only passports I’ll ever need in this world.” The kid got off on being cryptic as shit. A character quirk that made him at home with the rest of their undeniably smartass crew, but revealed a candor that put him in Leon’s blind spot for position as Dom’s other best friend. “I came for the cars and the food today—the girls, also—but mostly, the first two. Who would’ve ever guessed that gear-heads knew how to use oil and elbow grease for things other than bolts and plugs? This, my friend is my culinary gap year.” 

Dom’s spatula motioned in the general direction of the wakeup call emanating from the DJ’s booth that roused the red-eyed and road ready from their tents. “Just know that the port-a-johns are that way when you’re in a foot race with your gut.” Because going to Race Wars for the eats wasn’t high on most agendas.  “So are done with taste-testing that breakfast burrito or are you finished?” Dom rejoined, demonstrating that he, too, knew shit about pop culture and beyond. “Besides, I need a two-man team to feed the herd that’ll come outta that door.”

Sleep had been hard coming for a number of reasons, Dom supposed, but he got enough to charge up his battery to win and keep on his toes.

The breakfast rush started with Vince shambling blearily from the trailer to the port-o-johns and back with eyes red, questionably open as he zombie-shuffled his way to the benches and began digging in. The first bite into the burrito acted like a chow alarm as Rome strode out of the trailer before Vince could take the second bite.

Gradually, the group reassembled to grab breakfast, laughing and smiling with the excited current of Race Wars blurring out the events of the previous night. Even Brian’s shirt being sacrificed to Tank’s failed attempt to feed him left him looking relaxed—chilled out like the winds were channeling a copacetic breeze from the four corners.

Dom watched it all from the all-seeing perch of the mini-grill. Suki tag-teamed with Brian to get the twins ready for the big day, mostly winning the battle to stuff their bellies instead of feeding  the not-quite-yellow desert sand, though one well-timed infant hi-five introduced Vince to his first taste of baby mush since he’d grown a vicious set of teeth.

“Not bad,” he said while licking the corner of his mouth. “Sweet potato? I can dig it.”

Leon, who crept in from an early morning smoke, bowed over with shaking shoulders, laughing silently. Sure, Vince getting reacquainted with the finer things in pre-teething life was funny, but not that funny. AM weed steamrolled Leon’s natural cool, exchanging it for the snicker-giggle—silent chuckles when given the slightest stimuli.

Suki was sticking close to big brother, even though Dom was sure that Brian chilled out after pulling serious rank on his younger sibs.

Mia made promises to be Letty’s second when she raced. The same offer was left open to Suki and Giselle to join up to see how the girls did it. Brian gestured his approval as he drank a red cup of orange juice.

First, Suki then Giselle nearly tackled and choked Brian as they hugged him. “If we can look at the car art, then you’re on.” Suki deftly negotiated.

Letty dared to steal a stray bite from Vince’s plate. Her shades swooping low to regard him with a _whatya gonna do ‘bout it_ smirk and wink. After nudging him with a shade of affection, she nodded to Suki, “Sure, we can cruise around to scope out the pretty colors, but Imma teach you a little secret: It all looks the same if you’re going fast enough, chica.” Letty stole another pepper from Vince’s plate. “Here are the rules, chicas: One, If you wanna run with the big dogs, the size of your bark doesn’t matter; just your bite and the length of your legs. Two, never race _for_ or _on ass_. If someone wants to race you for ass, then direct them to Hollywood Boulevard or Sunset for some. But you don’t get serious for anything less than two large.”

Mia seconded Letty’s advice. “Always see the cash first and don’t be afraid to ask for help.” Because Letty and Mia had had their share of assholes who were too butthurt to hand over their cash to the chicks who’d beat them cold. They weren’t the only ones; all of them—Vince, Jesse, Leon, and, rarely, even Dom got tried a time or two. Thus explained how Dom earned the back end of his rep that floated around him like summer kelp from Echo Park to Lompoc to home again.

Giselle circled around the grill; at times, hovering over Dom’s shoulder to watch his obviously impressive moves or casting not-so furtive glances at Han who was eating with a nonplussed expression which only broke to radiate fascination when she skirted by.

He had to get those ages right. Someone was gonna be eaten alive, and it was apparently the littlest kitty who was flexing the biggest teeth. Damn, was her glad that Mia was a grown woman. A grown woman. Thank God. _Gracias a Dios_.

He caught Brian’s eye and the question there in— _what’s up with that—_ when Tank got Brian with another one-two sneak attack with something strained into a neon orange mush. The white tee never had a chance, though its sacrifice sent Vince, Rome, and pretty much everyone else into a rolling bout of hysterical laughter.

“I see how it is.” Said Brian as he climbed off the bench to return to the trailer.

Vince shot back, loudly with actual tears in his eyes that had nothing to do with Han’s favorite hot sauce. “No, you didn’t, Mary Floppins.”

“Hey!” Suki griped in warning, echoed by Rome, who still gave Vince a low-key hi-five. “We know where you sleep.” Letting the full consequences of the threat sink in. No one blamed Vince for not saying very much after that.

Early morning wars over hot sauce and smartass digs felt normal for a Saturday morning. Who the hell was Dom to say otherwise?

Like his Pop, he was just the guy who worked the grill.

* * *

After breakfast, it went as scheduled with Leon and Tej posting up close to the front within the sight-line of the quarter mile strips allocated for each meet.

Rome’s three mile-wide smile was glaring in contrast to the candy paint and desert pallet; each step syncopated with the jingle of several white bags clutched in his fists. “Yo, this place is awesome! I mean, capital ‘f’— _fiayh_ , but I’m mad—and happy—too, Dom, at y’all for holding out on me. On us. I’m, like, mad-happy.” Then bit into a cinnamon-dipped taquito. “Ummm, yeah, I’m just mappy at this point.”

The bags drew Vince and Han towards him like the promise of free anything on Black Friday. With Rome surrounded from both sides, appearing as cool as winter between steady bites, crunching away like clashing rocks.

Dom watched the trio take down the bag of fried sugar while discussing their meal. Frankly, Dom was in awe. “I’m starting to believe in Jess’s alternate reality wormhole theory, because I’ve never seen anyone eat as much as your brother. I mean, I live with Vince, so I know the limits of the digestion system. But some shit just defies logic, science, and magic. ” Every day, Dom was seeing more and more impossible shit, meanwhile Brian just stood by, remaining as chill as a slushie in snow.  

“Yeah, he’s a real miracle of science.” Brian uttered to Dom but waited to snipe Rome’s attention as soon as another taquito went to pieces between pearly chompers. “Don’t pass out into a food coma just yet. You’re on Twin Patrol, Ro.”

Rome’s squawk of indignation only reached a two out of ten which was still a notable effort. “—u gonna…ooo me lik’ dis, bruhhh.” He groaned with a full mouth.

Brian shrugged. “Figured you’d be tanked up with that second breakfast, you giant Hobbit. Now you’ve got something to actually do instead of just being…you. See ya!” Which was how Brian dropped the mic on Rome then walked away.

Dom did a discreet eyeballing of Brian as they migrated towards their cars. Impressed by Brian going two-for-two in the t-shirt department because this shirt actually fit. “Black is classic—always, but it’s gonna be scorching today.”

“I’ve learned to pack back-up everything even when packing light. The Twins are pros at doing damage. Black got my vote cuz I didn’t think it would be a good idea to be too matchy-matchy.” Brian gestured at Dom’s white tee to his black.

Dom just looked away, hoping that the sun’s angry glare would keep Brian’s eyes off him. Because Dom had his quirks like anyone else and had always really dug when he and Letty coordinated—by chance or on purpose; a trend that presented itself in pictures of his parents in their youth and the many years onwards.

But Dom kept his mouth shut, letting daydreams of white-on-white snapshots on a beach be filed away for later rumination.

Since they had plenty of time until their series, Dom invited Brian to check out the mixed spectacle of art and competition, by saying, “Let me introduce you Race Wars.”

They walked down an alley lined with serious tuners. Each demoing the substance under the hood, at least a full stack installed in electric fuel injection and wide flow exhaust systems. Brian tugged his sleeve to stop them in front of a sick candy green GT-R with scaled paint and claw marks gracing the chassis.

Brian got the driver’s attention as he circled around the body to marvel at the artistic details. “Is this a real homage to the ‘89-91 Godzilla or do you just have a thing for Japanese monsters? Either way, I know when to show respect.”

Golden Godzilla medallion was a nice touch on top of the driver’s psychedelic blue Hawaiian shirt. His choppy accent that might’ve dropped him a little bit north of Klaus’s origins contradicted the winsome smile on his face, growing by miles as his car got inspected from skirt to spoiler. He vaguely reminded Dom of Dwight from the club, making it easy to commit the dude’s face to memory.  Even if Dom didn’t know the guy by name, he recognized the dude from enough meets to know that he was legit. The flash of recognition in the Godzilla owner's muddy brown eyes spoke of mutual respect.

“This is JDM to the max. An ode to the real Godzilla.” Showing off the engine, he said, “These are originals from the ’91 beast. Years, man, to get all these parts. Took so long, I’m almost hella fluent in Japanese.”

Dom asked, “I’d like to see it run. If you got all of those ’91 series parts, then this thing is running 1200 horses, right?”

Mr. Godzilla exchanged a friendly fist bump as he stepped aside to give Dom a better look. “I know who you are so Imma show some respect when answerin’—but hell naw, I’m not racin’ this baby! I’m just here to show without pullin’ any real stunts, if you feel me? Cuz this is my baby and if anyone put too much dust on her, I might cry—or die, I’m not sure which.”

Dom pulled out his phone to snap a burst of shots of Brian damn near salivating over this classic GT-R. “The logic’s sound even if the game is a little weak.” After taking enough for later emotional blackmail, Dom whistled at Brian. “So, should I leave you two alone? Just a warning though: I’m pretty sure that look on your face is probably illegal in the state of California and I’m not trying to drain Suki and Giselle’s jail fund over you catching a charge for indecent and disorderly behavior.” Dom said, then snapped another pick of Brian giving him the finger.

Brian took one final walk around the body of the Godzilla GT-R. “I’ve got a Skyline that I’d love to run against the original beast. If you decide to do a run, hit us up, bro.” He hoped Mr. Godzilla would be interested in at least one quarter mile.

“Sure thing.” The trio exchanged one-armed hugs, building up enough good will to ensure another productive meet in the future. “If you like real engineering, then check me out the Instagram. My other baby is a ramp car.”

Brian got Mr. Godzilla aka Firuz’s contact info and promised to look him up.

Dom and Brian continued through the rows, stopping every few car lengths to inspect a few Evos, Spiders, Civics, and Subarus that were definitely up for stunting rather than standing. They worked well as team as they talked up the garage and encouraged a few drivers that were on the cusp of greatness to visit DT’s so that they could cross the line to the promised land.

Eventually, Leon texted Dom with the tally. “3-0,” Dom read, feeling a pang of regret for missing the action. “I don’t wanna be blamed for messing up the roll order. I’m thinking we should head back.”

Brian handed down his phone. “I’m less worried about that than Rome sending me snaps of him Mili Rocking around the finished line.” Brian’s solitary head shake was a loaded gesture. “He’s so close to an asskicking. I can just feel it. Like humidity or rain. And there’s the sugar, too. We’ve gotta keep him outta the sugar.”

“This sounds like an edited chicken and the egg argument. But I’ll trust your judgement, Bri.” Dom’s phone vibrated in his palm. He slid open the text, smiling again, “Y’know your brother might be a pain--” All true but he was still a good dude. “—But I gotta admit that this is kinda cute,” he said, offering over the screen to Brian to see Rome’s Snapchat of Twink and Tank dabbing after Letty’s win.

Brian snorted before texting Rome back. “Yeah, he has his moments. Let’s go.”They'd walked for a while in silence until Brian said, “I appreciated the help last night.” Brian offered Dom a thankful grin. “Maybe, I’ll count of you to back me up when I ban the rest of Rome’s sugar hunt.”

Dom answered, “I’ll do what I can,” and kept moving as he realized that the sun wasn’t the only source of his sudden warmth. He could hate that Johnny created drama but could be satisfied with Brian accepting his help.

When they’d reached the end of the row which was bracketed by a series of domestic muscle, Brian subtly perused the classics as Dom talked hard specs with the drivers. Each muscle car was prettier than the last. The Yenko, Chevelle, Challenger, and a Shelby Mustang made the biggest impressions. Each turning over their engines to unleash the sweetest roars that blossomed into drowsy purrs that promised a good ride and a better payday.

A cherry GTO had the sweetest growl but a fucked up Nos line. As Dom checked the course of the nitrous injection, Brian leaned closer to press his side into hard line of Dom’s body. Dom not pulling away from the contact proved how mellow the day was making him.

One of the last cars to earn their notice belonged to the pup that Brian seemed to hold a vendetta against. The pup was showcasing his ride while doing a helluva job at self-promotion.

Passing the day-glow orange Supra piqued Dom’s curiosity enough to stall at the spoiler until Brian bumped his shoulder to give him the momentum to keep moving onward.

Brian’s gaze locked on the pup like a scope, not losing him for a second. “That pup over there is eying you like he wants to run up and take a bite. Did you do something to him? Maybe call his paint lame, deny him anymore decals, or suggest a smaller muffler instead of the coffee can that he’s got hooked up in the back? Cuz he’s looking a little too eager since the last time we saw him at Hector’s meet.”

Dom glanced the way of buster blowing up Brian’s radar. “I don’t know him.” Dom shook his head once, feeling more amused than threatened. “If you haven’t noticed, I get a lot of attention but not many takers.” Shrugging then exhaling a put-upon sigh, Dom drawled, “That’s what happens when you’re the best.”

Brian uttered a rude sound that transitioned into a small chuckle. “So I remember you saying something similar when we first met.  Now you’re into my skills…” The inferred and _me too_ fitting into the cracks of Brian’s grin as he sobered up. “Even if you can’t remember the dude, I do, and I’m telling you there’s something not chill about him. That lame-ass car is the least of what bothers me about that kid.”

By looks, the pup was a barely twenty-anything white wonder bread kid who appeared to have studied the definition of trying too hard—from the Enyce jeans, graphic tee, and the backwards baseball cap, he’d a lot of effort into amassing cool things without having a basic understanding of the concept. “This is the best ride any of you will see this weekend.” Proclaimed the pup with the nerve to stare down Brian and Dom as they hovered at the edge of the crowd.

Dom chuckled as Brian bristled.

With the hood popped, they admired the Toyota’s 2JZ engine that had gathered enough admirers, race-bunnies, and haters alike. Brian was most definitely a member of the latter group.

Brian pointed to the engine discretely and whispered to Dom, “I doubt that pup can handle it. The high displacement and natural aspiration are cool, sure—but, the twin-turbocharged iron-block, 3 liter its pulling ain’t for someone that looks that green.”

Dom’s enjoyment of the car remained strictly superficial, though Brian’s saltiness was the most amusing event of the day so far. “I never knew you had a thing for green, Bri. Blue always looks better on you.”

As the bodies shuffled around the engine, they examined it long enough to estimate its performance but short enough to avoid the buster stepping up to play.  Finally, Brian reasoned, “It’s not jealousy, Dom. Not even close. It’s just… _my gut_. He would stutter over the choice of a Gallo 12 versus Gallo 24.”

“Gallo as in the Pizza place off Elysian or the one near Alvarado.”

“Exactly,” Brian retorted.

Dom considered Brian’s assessment of the buster, though cold, wasn’t far from a probable truth. “True, but savage, Brian.” Absolutely savage. “If I ever need a human background checker, I’ll call you.”

Brian stepped back to fade into the crowd, ready to fall into the tide of foot traffic. “Good thing you’ll have money to upgrade on that family and friends plan, huh?”

Dom understood how to interpret that tingle from deep inside the gut that couldn’t be pinned down with a single touch or emotion; often it screamed caution, opening up to flashing lights that warned with hysterical flickering of some unknown trap. His Mami taught him to listen to it. His Pop urged him to understand it. With Brian, it seemed like they shared it—that connection between mind and soul that gave rise to protective instinct. 

Just enough eye contact from the pup sealed Brian’s suspicion that the buster was fishing for something. Maybe, it was Dom’s age showing—him getting better at swerving around bullshit challenges—but the seed of desire to knock the smirk off the buster’s face remained firmly planted, likely only to be dislodged if Dom ripped the car from him and made him choke on a cloud of exhaust.

“I know bait when I see it.” Dom cautioned seeing an obvious trap but a bigger opportunity to get a sweet ride if the challenge were on the level. “Too bad really. That Supra is sweet.”

“We could build better.” The certainty in Brian’s voice resounding like a promise of things to come. “Trust me.”

“I do.” Dom smiled back.  

The day was starting off too sweet to be wrapped up in vision of catastrophe, so Dom slung an arm over Brian’s shoulders with the companionable grace that wouldn’t make anyone blink twice then steered Brian along. “A buster is a buster is a buster. Learn it, remember it, and deal with it, O’Conner.”

“Was that Shakespeare, Dom?” Brian quipped in fluid smartass.

“Naw, just a sprinkle of common sense. Now, c’mon, we’ve got plenty to see and less time to make the rounds before we liberate some cash from the busters that are gunnin’ to go home with lighter pockets.”

A gem of a Plymouth Barracuda parked beside a Jensen Interceptor slowed them down again. Dom gave praise where it was clearly due but experienced fanboy moments few and far between; this occasion being one of them. He’d just finished getting the times on the last runs between the muscle cars when a glossy cardstock flyer was shoved under his nose.

A little blond haired punk who looked locked in the throes of an indecipherable age three to five years south of Giselle waved the glossy post card in Dom’s face again. “If you want good music, buy my album.” The kid possessed moxie four times his pint-size.

Watching the little sucker MC left Dom feeling like he intruded into a conversation where the volume was turned down and the conversationalists chose not to turn the volume up. A cool shadow of amusement covered Brian’s expression as he watched the teeny-bopper talent hustle Dom to buy his album. Perhaps, he felt the ghostly shiver of déjà vu at the sight of a kid that drank from the same brand of hustle Kool-Aid that had gotten Brian this far.

“Excuse me,” Dom replied as he glanced around for an accompanying adult. “Kid, shouldn’t you have a chaperone?” Because Race Wars wasn’t a place to look for freelance babysitters.

The kid shrugged. “I don’t need a chaperone to boost my music.” Then the kid double-fisted his flyers. “Make him buy my music, too.” Tilting his head in Brian’s direction.

Dom regarded the kid curiously. The kid had brass ones for sure yet there’s something about the tiny pre-teen that Dom couldn’t outright identify. “Why should I help you sling your music?”

The kid reined in a confident smile. “Because you guys remind me of peanut butter and jelly—I mean, power from the crunch and finesse from the jelly.” Now, Dom thought about that first night in the café. Finesse and power were interlocking forces. The mini-mogul smirked at Brian. “I feel like I can vibe with you guys, so I'm gonna hook you up with an exclusive. There’s more if you hook me up. I’m trying to make the Trending List on YouTube. Always gun for number one, right?”

“Right.” Brian passed the CD to Dom. “This is a little old school. But I can’t knock the ambition.” Brian scanned the area, brows furrowing with concern. “Where are you parents, kid?”

“The same place as yours, Surf Bro Deluxe.” The kid boomeranged the sass.

Dom didn’t laugh. Just chuckled once. Maybe twice. Not enough to reward bad behavior. “Lil’ Nobody?” Dom flipped over the CD. “Not aiming really high there, kid. You sure you don’t wanna do the blues or something else with that name?” Dom looked to the kid whose attention wasn’t on hustling his wares but on Brian.  

Brian scanned the tracklist thoroughly. “Thanks, but no thanks, kid. I’ve got enough Kidz Bop coming through my dash. Hit us up when you make it iTunes or Soundcloud, then I might be up for a listen.” Brian handed back the disc, but Lil Nobody shook his head, stepping back.

“Keep it, bro.” Lil Nobody responded. “Give the tracks a listen and see what you’re missing.  Maybe try the last track.” The last track was number four, titled “The **D** isc **o** nne **c** t”. The kid sunk into the crowd while whipping out his mini flyer for anyone with an open hand.

Yeah, Dom might think about the conversation later, once it was set to music, and reevaluate how well he read subtext.

They pulled up just in time to watch the ceremonial trading of hands that the money went through as Letty handed over her two large to Leon. “That dude called me sweetheart and asked about my ass. If I were nice, I would ask about his after that asskicking I just gave him.”

Leon took the stack with a gracious bow. “Let, you’re many things but nice ain’t making the top ten.” He side shifted then shuffled off into a scurry, trying to outrun the heat of Letty’s glare. “J-K, Let, we know you’re sweeter than Abuelita’s tres leches.”

“I’ll remember that the first Sophie threatens to kick your stoner ass.” Letty stalked away to the viewing spot where the Mia and the girls were settled, along the way passing Tej and Jesse who appeared to be speaking in loud whispers with even bigger gestures to fill in the silence. Dom shrugged that one off since he decided that he wanted fun just as much as everyone else and figured it was fair to let Tej and Jesse settle their own shit for a change.

Brian slipped the postcard flyer into his back pocket seconds shy of Rome spotting him. “Here we go,” Brian said to Dom, just as Rome bum rushed him and herded him towards the Skyline.

Vince’s blue Maxima was one body length from the line. Dom watched him inch up to the line after the flag dropped on the starting line. The great white on the doors snarling with a feral thirst that Vince always embodied when racing. The edge was Vince’s without a doubt. Vince threw that dark scowl at his opponent in the Pepto pink Corolla. The look was so dark that the piss stains might’ve dried by the loop around back to the starting line.

The line for 10-G buy-in was only three cars deep, giving Brian enough time to roll over and exchange his cash, so Dom joined Rome at his window.

A charged up Rome talked even faster than normal. “Just listen to me for once, Po-Po: Crap lighting, shit thunder, and don’t take your foot off the gas. None of that lookaway shit neither.”

Brian squinted up at Rome, barely containing a tide of laughter behind his lips. “I hear you, Rome, but…” Now he looked to Dom, who infused zero effort into trying to suppress the effect of Rome’s _Romeness_ on his laugh reflex. “—Just curious: are you cribbing Rocky quotes now or was that a coincidental Rome original?” Undoubtedly, Rome had sat through the dubstep laced Rocky mash-up that had been projected on the broadside of the hangar’s wall the night before.

“Haha, Brian-nut Spice Bread,” Which would’ve made Vince howl in laughter if he’d heard it. “By the way, I even left you a little gift.” Brian looked down at the can of Nos in the cup holder. “Even if it tastes like old highlighters and watered down Sweet Tarts, I know it’s the thing to get you really hyped.”

“Thanks, bro.” Brian mimicked Tank and Twink’s cheek pats in a show of affection. “I knew you cared.”

Rome beat back Brian’s hands from head to chest. “Well, don’t get a big head about it, bruh.”

He made it so easy. Just too freaking easy. Brian glanced at Dom, tilting his head as if to give Dom the right away to make the slam dunk. No need for an assist beyond Rome’s unintentional foot-in-mouth insert.

“Rome, I think you’ve got that department covered...” Supplied Dom to the sound of distant roars of the crowd. “—Heads and tails above the rest.”

The answering eye roll by all accounts would’ve injured a less experienced smartass. “Anyway, you gotta fly now, and just win.” If ever a slap to the back of the head could be considered loving, then Rome achieved it before backpedaling towards the viewing spot.

Rome barely missed getting hip-checked by a black GTO with leopard printed doors. “Hey! I’m walkin’ here!” He shouted at the driver who gave him an unimpressed look behind lowered shades.

Her large dark eyes couple complemented her leonine features that looked neither contrite nor impressed by Rome’s squawking. “Yeah, I saw you, Mr. Peanut, and didn’t bump your narrow ass neither because I saw you. But these streets ain’t for everyone, that’s why there’s sidewalks.” Then she popped her shades up and pulled off slowly, giving ample time to see the painted on claw marks across her trunk while the words _Cookie Crunch_ were trapped beneath pointy fangs. Making it easy to postulate that she was more bite than bark.

Dom and Brian watched Rome follow the black GTO. “I think I’m in love,” Roman sighed, wistfully. “Call me Prince Charming, cuz she’s gonna be my Cinderella.” Then Rome resumed his backpedaling shuffle back to home base.

“Don’t.” Brian shook his head. “Just don’t. Let me have this one.”

Dom framed his hands around the upper outer edge of the window before leaning down to cross the threshold of the window to be with Brian. “I think Roman said it all.” He curled his knuckles into the hot metal in stubborn refusal to feed his habit of touching Brian.

After a sniff, Brian shot back a lightly sarcastic, “Of course, he did,” and looked across at Dom, his eyes still trailing up and down the route from Dom’s eyes to his mouth. “See you when I get back.” It wouldn’t be long.

“Definitely,” Dom added just as caught up looking at Brian and conjecturing the speed of drive-by kisses. He was jolted by Giselle delivering a stealthy hip-check, Dom palmed the roof gently, “Show’em what you’ve got,” he directed, then straightened his back.

“What _we’ve_ got, Dom.” Brian’s last words before speeding off towards a stack of waiting cash and desert glory. If not already caught up in his feelings for Brian, then he might’ve been after that moment.

* * *

Brian returned with a stack of cash, an illegally bright smile, and a dogpile of excitement. Tej and Rome sideswiped him from east and west, respectively, throwing arms around Brian, each beaming over his win. Suki lodged herself between Rome and Brian’s side to get her congratulatory hug while Giselle gave him a leaping hug from behind.

Letty offered up a more conservative fistbump that Brian accepted eagerly. Even Vince exchanged respectful head nods with Brian in deference to the win. They still wouldn’t be besties anytime soon but a step forward was worth celebrating.

Of course, Dom got to offer up his congratulations; still opting for the one-arm approach and a grazing brush of his slope of his nose against Brian’s ear in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it maneuver.

“Good work, Bullitt. Now everyone’s gonna remember the name from Watts and beyond.”

“Thanks, just doing my best to catch up with the Street King.” Reciprocated Brian. His voice a bubbly blend of husky and smooth that made Dom continuously thankful for dark pants. But the glint in his sky-clear eyes made promises that would be best fulfilled in night time hours in less crowded spaces.

Dom conceded with hearty pat to Brian’s chest. “This gets put on pause until later. My records not so lonely that it’s looking for charges. And Rome Mili Rockin’ is better than him crying about needing eye bleach.”

Brian followed Dom to the Charger since Dom’s lineup was next. “Don’t blame me, Dom. The plan was only to start the action. Thought it was agreed that you’re the one to finish it.” _Dammit._ “The promise of twenty-five Gs over one weekend is a cure for just about anything.”

“Even a runaway mouth, huh?”

“With twenty-five Gs, even Rome wouldn’t be hungry anymore. My teachers always said I was a little hyperactive—not on Jess or Rome’s level, definitely not—but when I’ve got energy to burn, I wanna burn it.” And if Brian tacked on _I want you help me with it_ then reason would suggest that Dom would’ve responded—possibly foolishly, by helping Brian achieve his goal.

His mouth was dry under the unrelenting sun which caused his tongue to chase the dry valley of salt in the valleys of his lips, spying Brian watching the movement with quiet smiling eyes. “Just show me what you need, Bri, and I’ll steer it home.”

There was a sudden injection of gagging beyond Dom’s right shoulder. “Ew, Dom. Ewww.” Vince injected copious petulance into his show of distaste. A damn masterclass for the twins in a year and a half. “Please get in the car. If you’re my bro, you’ll get in that car.” Vince pleaded. “Just focus on the quarter mile.”

Brian opened the Charger door for Dom, a move smooth and unexpected like Dom had done at a meet about a month back. “To be continued, right? I’m not taking the ‘L’ for Vince fainting like a little old lady.” He shook his head. “And, yeah, Mama Pearce is made of stronger stuff.”

“Back in a quarter mile.”

So Brian leaned into Dom’s window. “I was thinking…”

“Yeah, should I be worried that things are gonna take a turn towards dangerous.”

 Brian gave him a look that was smoldering with cuteness and sass. “Naw, just that, if y’know, you do it right, then I might take you out. You still like shrimp?” Dom nodded carefully. “I heard somewhere that if you win right—hit it right,” Brian emphasized with a sly smile, “that Red Lobster’s the only prize.”

Dom lifted an eyebrow: _Seriously, O’Conner._ “I’m starting to think that you should come with a warning, Bri. But let’s put this on pause til I come back. It won’t take long anyway, and then you can tell me about this Red Lobster prize.”

“You got it, Dom. Just make sure you come back with the _W_. But I’m not expecting any less unless you actually fall asleep.”

“Even in my dreams, I win, so see you in ten.”

He turned over the engine while keeping his eyes forward. For once finding it hard to concentrate on the road or the path to the ‘W’. His head swam in the clouds from this natural high. Airy. Clean. His chest swelling with the sweet breaths of golden freedom. Yet, Dom didn’t want to jostle this feeling or play himself in the worst way. A quick cut of his eyes up at the rearview mirror showed that Dom’s face didn’t completely betray the euphoria found in a sweep of slow seconds.  

Dom faced his fears, and today wasn’t the day to start avoiding them. Around the edges of Dom’s smile, Tej and Jesse appeared to be back at it. Tej shaking his head vehemently while Jesse twittered with exhausted attention. Tej threw his hands up as Jesse gave him a placating spasmodic wave before hopping into his Jetta. Jetta reversed into a dusty crescent, kicking up sand as it sped off into a humming fury while Tej marched into the team’s hive to commiserate.

 He shook his head. He’d lay his money on some nerd stuff that he probably wouldn’t get. They’d handle it later. He ignored the tingle in his gut.

The quarter mile was calling.

Home existed in between the breaths started and ended from the drop of the flag to the depression of the break. It’s the splintering of a single heartbeat into a billion seconds, each vibrating to the wavelength of a memory—a word, a direction, a lesson from his father—that always led to this moment: the vibration of the Charger under his hands, the swallow pools of sweat beneath his fingers, and the wall of silence projected against the rows of gyrating bodies with skin thirsting for a win.

The steering wheel’s leather whined beneath his fingers. Dom blinked. He flashed a revolving smirk to the crowd gathered around the starting line. The screams of the crowd pulsed with the dropped beats streaming from the pit inside of the hangar. There were too many colors to count, but the only that mattered was the white flag.

Dom handed off his cash two cars away with two cars ahead of him. Succumbing to the extrasensory weight of eyes on him, Dom looked across the car at his competitor. It was the buster with the Supra who grinned back at Dom.

The pup said, “Nice car.”

“Thanks.”

“Ten grand is nice, but I think it would be worth your while for bigger stakes.”

“And you think that you’ve got something other than cash to offer?” The buster was trouble. “Cash is king, and if no one’s taught you that already, then I’m not the one to tutor you.”

“I’ve got cash. More cash.” The buster smirked, popping his gum obnoxiously as he schemed to bait the hook further. “I’ve also got this car.” He waved an arm down the side panel. “Just like you’ve got a helluva car.”

They moved up. Now one car length from the line. The brake lights on the Monte Carlo ahead of Dom glowed purple as the driver rested on the brake. “I know.” The Chevelle SS resting above the nose of the Supra purred in anticipation of the flag drop.

“I’m willing to put up pinks unless you’re afraid. A deal can’t get sweeter than this.”

The deal could be sweeter. “What’ve you got under the hood: a Gallo 12 or a Gallo 24?”

Snorting derisively, the buster shot back, “Obviously, a Gallo 24. I’m not a total dumbass.” _Just a lying one_ , Dom thought.

Since Brian’s intuition had been spot-on, Dom decided to lean into the taunting. “If I win, I’ll take your cash, your car, and you can shut the fuck up for the foreseeable future.”

The buster beamed back broadly. “I’ll take that action. I want the same if I win, except I’d love to chitchat. Have a conversation or two. It’s Race Wars, right?” Throw in some cheese with that ham and the buster would serve up a fat sandwich.

Dom dipped his head in affirmation.

They reached the line. Dom’s eyes narrowed on the yellow stretch of the quarter mile. The Charger sang for him with a tenebrous snarl. Dom tapped the gas, _That’s right_ ; smile fading from his face as he slipped into the zone.  

All that mattered was the next ten seconds or less. After ten seconds, he’d see the look on Brian’s face when he presented the new Supra and watched a world of ideas shoot through Brian’s eyes like summer stars.

The flag dropped.

He won the car.  The buster’s face resembled a deflated balloon. So, Dom’s offered a plainly stated, “Thanks for the cash. Leave the keys and pink slip and start kicking rocks back to L.A. It’s a long-ass walk.” He found one of Hector’s cousins that he was fairly tight with to take delivery of the Supra and follow him back to their campsite.

Once again, there were no smiling faces when Dom returned.

“Why didn’t you talk him out of it?!” Vince yelled at Tej.

“I tried. I’ve been trying but he wasn’t listening.”

Dom found Mia. “What’s going on?”

Mia shook her head while Tank clutched at Dom’s arm. She exhaled tiredly. “Jesse decided that he wanted to race.”

“O-kay…”

She rolled her eyes. “He decided to race for pinks…against Johnny Tran.”

No. No. No. “What? He can’t.” Dom searched the camp for Jesse. “Where is he?”

“Brian and Leon are trying to talk him down. I don’t know if it’s working.”

Dom was torn between possibly attempting to shake the answer out of Tej or just take off in the general direction of Brian and Leon. Why did trouble keep coming back to Johnny Tran?

Dom whirled around to get back into the Charger but stopped as he saw Leon and Brian hauling ass towards them. “Where’s Jesse?”

“He took off!” Leon shouted, pointing to the east. “He’s gone.”

Dom’s breath caught before he asked the only question that mattered at the moment. “Did he lose to the Tran?”

Brian shook his head. “No.” He waved off the idea with both hands. “We got him to call it off before he could do it. He didn’t lose his car.”

That moment of relief evaporated the moment that the black Honda S2000 whipped around the nose of the Charger. The red snowflakes were a blazing shade of red, not nearly as pure as snow but a perfect facsimile for fresh blood.

“TORETTO!” Johnny sprang out of the Honda with fury quaking through his muscles.

Dom made his back straight. “Can I help you?”

 Johnny swaggered closer. “That little tweeker that runs with you owes me a car.”

Dom watched Johnny mostly but kept his eyes on the crowd forming around them. “He called off the race, so no dice. He don’t owe you shit.” Dom replied as Johnny motioned away his statements with silencing hands. The jury was still out about the benefit of having so many witnesses for the inevitable collision.

Seeing that some of his crew had finally caught up, Johnny began to lurk closer, encroaching on the nose of the Honda as he stared down Dom but audibly worked the crowd. “Junior was quick…called it sooner than I expected.” Tran flexed his arms. “He forked over the cash, then upped the stakes to pinks, and placed his nerdy ass in the car, so it doesn’t matter if he called off the race. He forfeited the minute he wanted to race on pinks then pussied out. Those are the _rules_ and you know them just like everyone else. Don’t let that little punk hide behind mommy’s skirt, cuz he was too chickenshit to roll with the big boys.”

The time for being diplomatic blew by without much notice. Of course, Dom slugged Johnny in the mouth to remind him of the other rules, too: _Talk shit, get hit_.

Johnny spat blood into the sand and curled his tongue viciously over his bloody lip. “This one is on you.” He said in a low snarl. “This one is on you.” He growled with rising venom.

Dom flexed too, his big arms opening up to prove how much he didn’t care about Johnny’s tantrum. His hands still coming down into fists ready to quiet Johnny again, as needed. “Yeah, whatever, I accept cash on delivery like everyone else, so starting kicking rocks and we won’t have any more problems.” A small voice told him that he should stop but the vicious edge that rarely got free was enjoying the freedom; so his mouth kept going. “You didn’t want that car anyway. It’s not your style. I think some of the tuners in the back might give you the flash you need, because real stuntin’ ain’t what you do either.”

Johnny wiped the trickle of blood from the ruptured seam in his lip. “You actually made this easier than I thought, Toretto.” Whipping around Johnny spoke to the crowd and their equally as visible cells that were recording the clash for posterity or hilarity.  “Yesterday, Feds raided my house, disrespected my family, cuffed me and tried to book me on some bullshit grand theft charges. All based on a tip.” Johnny spat again, a cluster of red stars twinkling across a nebula of sand. “I kept thinking when I was down in County: who the fuck would drop a dime on me? Who would be desperate enough to save their ass from the cops even breathing their way?” Then he pointed an accusing finger at Dom. “It kept coming back to you.”

Vince’s arms snaked around Dom’s shoulders faster than the speed of light, containing him in a muscle straining hold. “I’ve NEVER NARCED on nobody! Never! Never!” Leon barricaded Dom from the front. His wiriness no match for the momentum of Dom’s incipient rage.

Johnny paced the narrow gap separating him from the two-man struggle fest trying to contain Dom. “No? Then maybe you’re hiding something else? Either way, you’re a fucking liar or a fucking rat.” Turning to crowd, Johnny placed his claims before the altar of public opinion. “You—or whoever decided to start talking owes me a debt. You brought shame to my family.” Johnny’s trembled with fury, growing quieter as it narrowed to a deadly peak. “You brought _shame_ to my father.”

Red supplanted the yellow sunshine in front of Dom’s eyes. “Fuck you! Get outta here with that shit!” Dom reared up and almost over Leon. “I never NARC’d on NO ONE!” The red crept in from the corners, growing until it shaded everything.

“No? Then maybe if you’d just talked to me like I’d asked, then we might’ve gotten this misunderstanding cleared up.” Wagging a disapproving finger at Dom, Johnny continued to weave his antagonizing snare. “But you’re still keeping secrets from your friends. And that’s gonna cost you.”

Dom heard nothing but the sound of his breathing and Johnny’s voice. Saw nothing but Johnny baiting him. Each time he surged forward, he found resistance.

Again, Johnny spat wetly into the dirt. A splash of red landing between his feet. “Congrats by the way.” Said with a dark teasing smirk that widened as he bit into each word. “--even if _that’s_ definitely not for me. It’s good that you stopped pussying around with that pitbull of an ex and went for the real thing. Shit, Toretto, your girl’s gotta bigger balls that most of us here, but they’re still no substitute for the real thing, right? I guess you’d know after all.”

Trembling in rage, Dom was rendered silent.

“Better to be a cocksucker than a narc.” Johnny pointed out to the distant sands beyond the hangar. “Now, go fetch my car.” Johnny sneered as his eyes narrowed to a calculating degree. The sharpness of his gnashed teeth only needed the ragged edges of meat to be a real a feral grin. Until then, Johnny would have to be content with savaging Dom verbally, carefully picking off his stripes of flesh with each revelation.   

Dom stepped up with cold fury. “The fuck did you say to me?” Muscles tightening like a string on a bow. “Say it again.” The command daring Johnny to risk his ass and his life by coming at Dom like this. The storm Dom carried inside his skin from Lompoc accelerated to a cataclysm, swirling to be released.

Like a shark, Johnny maneuvered into Dom’s space traveling a slow, sinuous path until they were just shy of striking distance where his small smile promised maximum bite. “I said: Fetch. Me. My. Car. Bitch. Or, do I need to direct it at pretty boy? I’m not sure how that works. Always knew you were bitchmade, Tor--”.

A crack then silence.

He was in the vacuum again—the one that started at the worst hours of AgSeg and lasted until someone couldn’t take it anymore and started screaming, but here it persisted. Here, the music disappeared. Gone so sharply that deafness could be the only cause. No sounds of breathing. No pulse of silence. Just the white flare of sunlight tunneling his vision to a myopic portal of sepia silhouettes. Just the cold burning in his arms. Numbness. Lead strapped to the ends of his wrists. Dripping stickiness between his fingers. The grit of sand burrowing into the furrows of his fingertips.

He flew free with leaden hands and steel fingers swinging forward on the hunt for a home. _Impact. Impact. Crunch._ Then the vines came. More vines strangled him, pulling him down and back to earth, and away; his arms and legs trapped as he flailed, whipping hard, and straining to be free.

Then the lights dimmed until it was only Brian in his view, calling him, demanding, angry. How could he be angry?

Brian reached for him and Dom reared back like Brian’s fingers were jagged shivs seeking to gut him worse and leave him flayed for the pickings of the vultures. “Get. The. Fuck. Away. From. Me.” Dom roared back, breaking free from the arms tying him down, then charged forward to collide with warm bodies until they disappeared from his path as the only color he could see was the black of the Charger.

Vince’s voice was far away but swimming in his right ear as Leon distantly filled the left. Mia calling out, “Mano!” from a far—brushed off as he slid into the Charger and sped away. Color coming back into his vision as he sped out of the mouth of Race Wars until the black concrete and the brown mountains bordered his narrow gaze until he flicked his wrist and bright red blood smeared the clarity of the windshield.

His only thought a resounding _fuck_ synchronized to the frenzy inside his chest. Fuck, he hated Johnny Tran. Fuck, he hated himself more. Fuck, he’d fallen into the sunken place at the bottom of a tornadic well of rage and wrath.

Dom ignored the vibration from his pocket. Opted for shoving his cell as far away from him as possible, because, right now was not a time to talk. As it was, alone with his thoughts, they felt far too loud. And unleashing any of the chaos inside of his head into the universe would only lead to worse things.

As he sped through the night, tires devouring the black asphalt away from the city, Dom resolved that the only blame lay with him. For letting himself get caught up in someone else’s magic. Dom was who he was due to his natural shine—the ferocity of his talent, the inherent union of mind and skill, and the spirit of winning in his blood.

The phone pinged again. A text message blasted off to him from his problems in the city. Problems that he had foolishly welcomed inside his head and heart with open arms.

A week ago he thought nothing of dropping that four letter L tag, and got rabbit-punched in the chest by his own ignorance. Now, his shit was literally all over the streets, so the more distance between him and L.A. was a godsend.

 _Fuck Johnny_.

_Fuck Lance._

Dom knuckled the wheel until his fingers tingled with the buzz of numbness. His grip remained inflexible as the odometer climbed higher and the miles to TJ grew shorter.

And Brian? Dom sighed in the dark, blasted the radio to a tune of indistinct bass, and wistfully wished that all of this had been caused by _brujeria_ bullshit instead of Dom crossing lanes that never needed to be crossed.

The phone pinged again. Eventually, Dom would answer but first he needed the freedom of Mexico to clear his head. Then he’d let the talking follow. The miles offered the only comfort Dom would accept.

But he couldn’t run away. He whipped the Charger around and found the first road that would take him east.

Miles later, Dom arrived on familiar roads that led to the Civics. Johnny’s words echoing in the dark box inside his head. The faintest stream of light passing through as Dom considered Johnny’s rebuked accusation— _I knew you couldn’t be a narc._ In Lompoc’s yard, the only way to enact action was to start with misdirection. There were too many eyes on him. Making a decision to set his mind on other things was the only way to get throw this.

He rattled off a text to the team.

The illusion of control came from his head, but the pain of it falling apart pierced through his heart.

How quickly he’d forgotten the most important rule: Always go with your gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> 1\. "Oye, primo. Tengo los hechos del proximo corrido." --Hey cousin, I have the facts/deets about the next run.   
> 2\. en boca cerrada no entran moscas- loose lips sink ships  
> 3\. Digame, como esta Leticia? -Tell me, how is Letty?
> 
> A/N 1: Yes, I ship Roman Pearce with Cookie from Empire.   
> A/N 2: Brian made a reference to Red Lobster which he heard in Beyonce's "Formation".

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 2: Brian's ringtone is the chorus to [Jay-Z's I Just Wanna Love U](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nG8o_9RliwU) for obvious reasons.


End file.
